Interesting to your humble blogger that he was so stressed out earlier [and still almost hyperventilating] that he dropped into the third person and has not been seen since.
As Q said to James Bond some decades back:
Some people use their garden sheds or treehuts for that escape plan. Your humble blogger fervently believes in Q’s advice but could also add – don’t let anyone railroad you or press you into his or her way of doing things.
Put them all together and that’s surely a recipe for a misanthrope?
Well no, not completely – avoids human society? Maybe but I don’t detest those ladies and gentlemen who are halfway reasonable, we can enjoy a convivial glass or eight … and look at this blog … would we run it, were we all misanthropes?
Nope, there needs be another word – hermit? Nope, my name is not Herman. Methinks ‘recluse’ is as good a word as any or maybe ‘only occasionally convivial’.
Hypothetical examples? Well, being stuck in a hall with a hundred Dem-rats would send me running for the exit. A rally of 20,000 for MAGA – different thing, not claustrophobic in the least, I might even try to be pleasant to those around.
So, why the stress today? Partly not being well – heart, tinnitus – but mainly them next door. They’re usually good, don’t make noise but just now there was obviously company and they were hooting and screaming, even whistling at the top of the voice.
I can be reasonable to others for two hours – been practising.
The very worst aspect is that this nook where I’m holed up is home and yet there is no escape from their noise next door, no way of escaping it – why should I have to go outside for a walk?
And that’s why those motorbikes which just roared by are no issue – they’ll be gone in a moment and even if they do come back, they’ll tire of it after an hour or two. Plus I like bikes.
Maybe it’s the sardine factor – it’s living at close quarters which I can’t abide, don’t know about you – and even though these are probably the loveliest people in their hearts and souls in this wail story:
… I still feel the hyperventilating coming on just looking at them:
Add to that the biz about they must do this and must not do that … I don’t care how Christian they are, I’m out of there.
Chuckles sent along yesterday’s Open Road:
… and three more examples from that illustrate mein kampf:
Are your first thoughts at that scene, ‘Ah, seclusion,’ or are they, ‘Blot on the landscape?’
Try this one:
No way I’d hook my car up beside his and do that. For a start, he’s way too close for comfort lying there in all his smelliness, secondly I can’t escape with my car should I need to … and that stresses me something awful.
Two beautiful boats, I’d be happy on either but let’s say one is mine and the other his and let’s hope mine is the outer one … at the same time, I’m forced to walk across his to get to shore, unless I launch the ship’s boat.
Why do you think I have a ship’s dinghy as well as the mother ship?
Recluse? That’s not really the word I’m struggling for – must be some other way to describe it. Bloodyminded?
That’s why when you do see my boat eventually, it’s weird – it’s a series of interconnected private spaces, quite private, each cabin separated from others by some other compartment – galley, wheelhouse etc. There MUST be privacy and while on board, one’s own space, without anyone else traipsing through.
For sanity. Now, I need an excuse to run this song again for the nth time – coz that’s what we are – the breeze:
… but hopefully not driftwood.