Empty Days

Thursday, July 08, 2004



All quiet on the western front.

I spent the afternoon with my mother yesterday - first time I do that in more than a year or maybe even two years. I can't quite remember. I am a torture to my mother, and she is a torture to me for that reason. In a way I wish I had less to do with my parents on the whole, but it would be impractical and not really human. So the silent lament goes on: "why are you not the way I wish you were".

I wonder why it's so dramatically difficult for parents to accept what is and just shove it for a change. I don't remember ever wishing I had "different parents" just because mine were having too much of a fucked-up life. I accepted their being so fucked-up, it didn't occur to me to tell them to change and "be happy". What an absurdity. But my mother is a sucker for "normality". She can't face certain facts. Not in herself, not in others. I am sorry for her - I wish I could help her get out of this narrow vision, but I don't think it's feasible.

Sitting in judgment is what parents do best, the poor things.

***

Of course I left unsaid the pivotal fact of the last few days consisting of me boldly going out and puncturing the tyres of my nemesis' car. I couldn't tell the story of how ridiculous and absurd it was, and how one punctured tyre made a huge noise of a balloon going flat, and how I just walked firmly away from the scene and got home, and shortly after heard animal asiatic yells in the street coming from the nemesis who was woken by the unmistakable sound, and how just after that I went out to buy cigarettes in the dead of the night because I was kind of high-strung and was out of smokes, and how I noticed the nemesis' shadowy shape roaming the park nearby in search of the culprit, and how the whole next day was spent by the nemesis changing his tyres in the yard under my balcony and swearing loudly, and how I was sort of waiting for at least a visit from the police to ask whether I have "noticed" anything but nobody came.

Jesus - it would have made for a fun story to tell, but that's nothing you can entertain your parents with.

And yet there were so many unclear dynamics in this whole episode. For instance, I wasn't entirely decided on doing the deed and just went out around 4am with the idea that either I would do it or would bike to the nearest store to buy smokes - I still didn't feel entirely settled on the plan. But then, something like fatality kicked in. When I got to my bike I saw that the front tyre was completely flat. I didn't expect that. But this is what actually triggered my whole adventure - I simply turned and went directly for the nemesis' cars, and did what I had to do a long time ago, not even minding the surveilliance cameras of the synagogue across the street, not even caring whether the tyres would make a noise or not. I was on automatic pilot, to say the least.

The next day I realized that the tyre on my bike was not really punctured - it would hold air for a few hours, then go flat. Which is a typical sign of a natural defect from too much wear or rust, but not a hole in the tube. The fact that the point of rupture should have occured precisely at the time when I was considering acts of retaliation, is a glaring example not even of coincidence but of raging fatality. Perhaps I played my nemesis' karma - was practically pushed into playing it.

***

Reality is a strange thing - it clearly extends far beyond merely moral considerations. My mother wouldn't understand that.





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