Lapsus Mundi
From the moment my unforgiving alarm clock yanked me out of a particularly interesting dream about the surprising elasticity of antlers, I noticed something was off. But I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I pondered about the reason for this unusual feeling as my right hand was taken aback by the wooden texture of my nightstand while searching for the snooze-button with increasing desperation and urgency. I yielded my declining sense of comfort and opened my eyes. The reason why my usually very adept right hand did not manage to find the source of the unholy morning racket was floating near the ceiling. Next to it, my slippers and the small turquoise rug which usually remained very obediently at the side of my bed were apparently having a very intimate moment with the ceiling as well. I couldn’t help but notice the fact this was pretty odd. In a seemingly very stereotypical manner I scratched my head and attempted to comprehend the situation.
Priorities. I needed to sort myself out. First, I decided to stop that infernal wailing. I sat up straight and slowly started pulling the black cable which hung on to the alarm clock like a mother hangs on to her child when passing a toy store. Having reached the end, I triumphantly pressed the snooze button and let the clock slip out of my hand again. It immediately resumed its quest for the ceiling. I sat there watching the floating clock for a while, but then I decided to just let it be. I quickly made for the bathroom on an unbelievably cold floor, but as long as I couldn’t persuade my slippers to come down again it couldn’t be helped. I grabbed the toothpaste from the bathroom cupboard and held it in front of me. Curious about the state of affairs in this part of my residence, I proceeded to let go of the toothpaste to discover its intentions. With a velocity apparently greater than my own reaction time it plummeted down onto my right little toe. Having uttered the necessary profanities concerning mothers and the phenomenon of procreation I picked the toothpaste up again and wobbled back into the bedroom. Then, I once again let go. This time, it swiftly reached the ceiling with a distinct ‘thunk’. I once again contemplated what could be happening. It seemed either I was moving down or these objects were moving up. Considering the fact that I was stationary at the time, I could only conclude that my belongings seemed to fall upwards in this room (instead of downwards, which is their usual trajectory as dictated by gravity). Oh well, couldn’t be helped.
With a mixed sense of curiosity and dread I entered the kitchen cleanly shaven and ready to ward off any airborne pieces of blackened toast. But my fears proved unnecessary; the toast and jam made no visible effort whatsoever to escape their imminent end and the newspaper faithfully remained on the mahogany table. After this modest breakfast I grabbed my briefcase and my coat. The daily hunt for my keys proved less difficult than the day before, as the small ceramic bowl on the cupboard near the door didn’t prove to be a very good hiding spot.
The morning light peeked over the horizon and licked the tip of the spikes of the lovely wooden fence I made last summer to patch up the increasingly strained relationship between my wife and I.
A frantically chirping blackbird narrowly evaded my tire as I backed out the driveway and proceeded to tell me off by ostentatiously flying back over my car and dropping a strategically placed spludge on the front windshield. That’s what you get for living in the suburbs. After meekly following the neat little streets through the suburb jungle, I ventured out onto the highway and “put the pedal to the metal”. (such is the common expression I believe for the type of acceleration in a mechanical vehicle which is triggered by slight pressure of my lowermost extremity on a metal plate)
As is normal for the nature of society, the ever recurrent theme of predation quickly came into view as my rearview mirror showed the maliciously flashing lights of a police vehicle. I followed common procedure and pulled over. The slightly battered squad car soon vomited forth something crammed coarsely in a light blue wrapping. The presence of the smug sense of satisfaction under his bushy moustache and the ominously red notebook in his right hand confirmed my suspicions that this creature was in fact a well-respected authority figure in our western society. I locked my facial expression in smiling position and enquired after the reason why I was being detained from my obvious speeding. My query bounced off the corpulent policeman and was effortlessly trampled by his own booming voice: “You were goin’ a bit fast there, wudn’t ya say?” I opened my mouth to utter an innocent denial but before my vocal cords managed to get off a single vibration he continued: “That’s gonna be at least a £120 fine, I’m afraid. What were ya drivin’ so fast for anyways?” I answered I was already late for work. “And what is it you do for a livin’ exactly?” This seemingly simple question set off a series of mental dominoes, and the very last one apparently knocked that particular knowledge from my brain. I answered very candidly and without thinking that for some reason I couldn’t remember what my profession was. And as a matter of fact I didn’t really remember where I was headed either. I asked the officer if he knew. The look on his face presented a beautiful expression of what is listed in the Oxford English Dictionary as ‘bewildered’. But before he could an adequate response to the bout of acute madness we were apparently both suffering from, my car apparently thought it a good idea to relieve me from this awkward position by floating upwards in a slow but steady fashion. I hung out of the open windshield and tossed a short apology to the baffled officer. Then, I attempted several cunning plans to get myself back down again in one piece (most of them involving car-related profanities) But as I gained altitude, I sat back in my seat, emptied my lungs with a stretched sigh and turned on the radio. What a very peculiar day. Oh well, couldn’t be helped.
Lapsus Mundi
Reply With Quote
