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Archive for the ‘sleep’ Category

with a towel you can't go wrong

A simple Ikea cardboard box, a towel and ready.

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back …

My Door Haz Bling
I‘ ve been away from my blog and my computer in general for a while in my own time. Renovating an appartment does that to you. But now it is nearing completion.

Some of it is really worthwhile, some of it are small details. Anyhow, I hope to increase my postcount a bit more from now on. And yes, this door is bling!

My Door Haz Bling

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release

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Finally relief!!!

This evening an awfully good osteopath managed to free the last of my necks vertebrae that was blocked. In the process of doing so he also included a quick release of some dorsal ones too.

As you may, remember I had some neck trouble. Not that everything is 100% OK now, but this clears the path to speedy recovery. Now some extra normal kine can release the muscle tension and hopefully improve my posture, which in turn should prevent re-ocurrences of this painful event.

Oh, and by the way, my rabbit is quickly regaining his lower chissel that went missing so his knibbling and biting habbits are back to normal.

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This is one of the causes of my current bad state. All these muscles you see there, including the ones not colored, are stiff, sore and hurt like hell.
Furthermore, my spinal discs are in a bad shape. Kine managed to loosen up three of them already, but the upper one refuses to come loose. To make things worse, tying to manipulate that one really hurts and triggers a severe headache – which I am suffering now.

I really hate to see this blog turn into a lifelog as of lately, but these kind of things consume you so much you can hardly think of something else and the entire world seems to revolve around your pain or at least any effort to relieve or avoid it.

To top things off, my rabbit lost one of its lower chisels (tooth) yesterday when we visited the vet. His lower tooth as it was not fitting correctly under the upper one and as a result the lower tooth grew too large. The vet trimmed it to a normal lenth, but when he finished, I notice the awkward angle the remaining part of the tooth was standing and asked if this was normal. Seemed not, he slightly pulled and immediately held my rabbits tooth in his hand. He assured me it would start to grow back soon, but I’m not feeling so comfortable about it. In the meantime I have to feed him all his food chopped up in tiny bits. Poor little boy.

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small break

Some medical issues keep me from posting and honestly do not encourage me to post at this moment.

We’ll be back after the break …

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a painful reminder

something green and leafy
It was the third time that week that he passed by the place. The first time he did not recognise it, at least not consciously. However, something must have drawn his attention to the spot as the second time he passed by he was pretty sure he could see it. The third time there was no doubt. Maybe the way the streetlights illuminated the spot highlighted it with all its details. Maybe he just finally recognised every aspect of it.

There is was, outlined in the graffiti and decay of the wall. A door, invitingly open. A smell of fresh indoor air penetrated the heavy evening air which was laden with the smell of Hortensia and the damp smell of rain on hot asphalt. He knew he would enter the door. He was sure he had to enter the door. Even though a part of his brain tried to tell him that this was a solid wall. Something quite impenetrable, solid brick with only a decayed piece of land behind it.

So he entered. And as a matter of fact the first thing he noticed was a decayed piece of land. He was standing there among weed and thistles. For a second. Then his vision slightly blurred like everything went out of focus for a millisecond. When he blinked his eyes the focus was back but now he felt like seeing two scenes overlayed on top of each other. At his feet were indeed thistles, but also a rug. And he could hear the blackbird sing in the three a few yards away while at the same time he heard the rustling and crackling of a stove.

He focussed on the stove which became more real by the minute and then he started to notice activity in the house. A young woman in modern day clothing was walking around while chatting to someone invisible at the back of the house. Probably in an other room. The original eeriness and itchy feeling faded away as he knew her name and who she was. He also now heard the person in the back call him by his name. His real name. The one never uttered by a fellow human before that day. And he knew.

It had been a long time and it all had to come back to him. He felt it twitching and crawling at the back of his head. Slowly creeping onto him. First trickling in little droplets, then a full avalanche that nearly drowned him. Suddenly a sob, some snickering. The young woman looked upon him and asked him ‘is it really you? Why did you have to come now?’ she pleaded him. And he knew there was little he could say for it was not his choice to point them towards their destiny. He was just a tool, a presentation, a metaphor of life.

When he turned around to take in the interior of the house he stared at a brick wall, covered in dirt and weeds. There was no house. He turned back and did only see a stretch of wilderness, which was exactly what he expected there. While taking in the view, he grabbed the doorknob behind him and walked backwards out of the garden. When he was back on the street he closed the door and forgot.

§ § § § §

It was the second time that week that he passed by the place. The first time he did not recognise it, at least not consciously. However, something must have drawn his attention to the spot. The second time there was no doubt. Maybe the way the streetlights illuminated the spot highlighted it with all its details. Maybe he just finally recognised every aspect of it.

There is was, outlined in the graffiti and decay of the wall. A door, invitingly open. A smell of fresh indoor air penetrated the heavy evening air which was laden with the smell of Hortensia and the damp smell of rain on hot asphalt. He knew he would enter the door. He was sure he had to enter the door. Even though a part of his brain tried to tell him that there was only a decayed piece of land behind it.

So he entered. His vision slightly blurred like everything went out of focus for a millisecond. When he blinked his eyes the focus was back but now he felt like seeing two scenes overlayed on top of each other. At his feet were some thistles, but also a rug. And he could hear the rustling and crackling of a stove.

He told the girl at the stove ‘here I am, I came here’. She turned to him with a pleading face and asked him ‘is it really you? Why did you have to come now?’ And he knew then and there that it was not upon him to decide. He could do some things but the ultimate decision was not his.

He turned around and walked out of the door, carefully closing it behind him when he was back on the street. He smelled the Hortensia and the wetness of the street and forgot.

§ § § § §

He entered the street and walked halfway untill he passed by the place. He slightly tilted his head untill the streetlights illuminated the spot highlighted it with all its details. Recognising every aspect of it he hummed a tune of satisfaction.

There is was, outlined in the graffiti and decay of the wall. A door, invitingly open. A smell of fresh indoor air penetrated the heavy evening air which was laden with the smell of Hortensia and the damp smell of rain on hot asphalt. Here it was. Under a layer of decayed land.

He entered. His vision slightly blurred like everything went out of focus for a millisecond. When he blinked his eyes the focus was back. At his feet a rug, he could hear the rustling and crackling of a stove nearby.

He told the girl at the stove ‘here I am, I came here’. She turned to him with a pleading face and asked him ‘is it really you? Why did you have to come now?’ And he knew then and there that it was his decision now. This was what he had been waiting for all this time. They should not have done this to him. They probably never realised it would not end, it would only fade away in time. every visit of him would rub off a little of the story and make it more vague.

But the memories would remain. They would be buried deeper and deeper every time and a greater distance would come between him and the events. But it would not wear off. Burning, hanging and burying a man tree times in a row tends to stick to you. And the way they did it and how they did it had insured that he would come back. Of course it was never their intention. But they were ignorant, simple folk who should have stayed out of the matter.

He looked hard at them, trying to erase them from his memory and at the same time making sure he would never forget them so he could always find them back to remind them. Then he turned around and walked out of the door, carefully closing it behind him when he was back on the street. He smelled the Hortensia and the wetness of the street but could not forget.

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wrok

too busy with my work so I really don’t feel like spending a lot of time posting right now …

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