cripple

Beware, beware, the Ides of March - Beware!

The Ides of March have come and gone, but still the months of March/April hold their breath as the rest of the world gradually ebbs away, in pieces. Bit by bit, piece by piece, square by square, moment by moment, the waves come crashing down again as the sea welcomes the winter and I find myself lost. Again. What is it about March/April? The pre-Pesach jiitters? The heave of anticipation to clean out your system, flush the dangerous or the old or the unused or the resented out in order to breathe in a new warm day? Perhaps the realisation that it is already near April. The first quarter of the new year is already up. Time's up. Stop what you're doing, and reflect. What, reflect on this past since since the last Pesach? Since the beginning of the Jewish new year at Rosh HaShanah? Or what's been going on since the beginning of the secular year, the first of January. And now it's already near April.

They say time flies when you're having fun. Maybe that's why this week has crawled. Snail. Turtle. Old granpa behind the wheel on Carlisle Street. It's lurched forward, pushed by the various films I watch on my laptop in my bed as I disgust myself in the mess of my room, the stench of old clothes and India and unopened boxes. It's disgusting and I don't do a thing about it.

Maybe as soon as this tonsilitis is kicked, the autumn cool sunshine and bare trees will warm me again. Man, I'm praying that it will.