Why I Hate Puffers

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Even clowns have their down days when they don’t feel like crawling out of the tiny car; they would rather take a nap in the back seat. Mediocre writers have drivel days. Witty people are suddenly witless. Bankers forget how to bank. Soldiers don’t feel like fighting. Belly dancers will not shimmy. Mothers loath their children. Cops simply get tried of chasing bad guys. And I just can’t fill this space. So, rather than faking it as usual, I’ll free associate the lethargy that lays on me like a wet sheepskin.

Maybe somebody out there is crazy enough, stoned enough, has had enough lithium or Thorazine today or is just plain simple enough to be amused by this. It’s 22:30 and I’m trying to stay awake long enough to squeeze some juice out of this sour lemon that has occupied my brain pan.

Okay, here goes:

This is this morning’s utterly depressing sunrise. Colourless, rainy. It made me want to run back inside, rip off my clothes and curl up in a fetal position under three blankets with the air conditioner on full blast:You’ve seen them. You know what I mean. Think of those days when the sky is watery grey, you’re late to work and there’s an inch of ice on your windscreen.

Here’s a close up of the sorry mess:

I’m ashamed to show it.

I’m blaming all of this uncharacteristic lack of enthusiasm on this wretched little puffer. I’m not even going to bother with his taxonomic name, the little coward!Puffers are sorry critters. Being pudgy and awkward, they can’t run very fast, nor are they fierce in the least. So they scamper to safety like a tortoise in molasses. If that fails, they puff themselves up like a sodden paper bag of unflavoured gelatin. It’s really disgusting.

This morning a silly blue ship was escaping the harbour, probably loaded down with Mary Jane, chased by a ridiculous red tug boat:How unspeakably boring.

On the way to work I had to deal with the sodden and cratered streets of Madang:

We’ll soon be competing with Lae for the biggest potholes. We really should tell the town government to take a hike and don’t come back. We’d be better off without them. They whine constantly about promises of money broken by the Big Men, but they don’t have the cajones  to put up a fight.

Seriously, I’m feeling quite chipper. There’s a calm smugness which envelopes me when I simply stop caring. Nihilism has its charms. Read Kurt Vonnegut.

This is some kind of fish:

Goodnight. It’s now 23:15. I’m going to the lounge room for two fingers of single malt and a cheap cigar. I never drink alone. Eunie is asleep in the bedroom. I’m not alone.

Live long and prosper.

If you can find the energy.

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5 Responses to “Why I Hate Puffers”

  1. bobbi lynn Says:

    jan i can tell you definitely don’t enjoy these drabby days! you’re writing says it all! and “some fish” haha.. I love it. Hope the weather clears up soon!

  2. Walt Says:

    Ah, yes … so it goes.
    Actually the soggy grey days are very common in my part of the world, but it does take some getting used to. Are you guys going into a rainy season now?

  3. MadDog Says:

    I remember cold, rainy days in winter in Indiana. I’d almost rather have snow. When it’s a rainy day here, Eunie always complains that it reminds her of winter, even if the temp is 26C. We’re presently moving from the wet to the dry season, but it’s taking its time.

  4. MadDog Says:

    Hi Bobbi. Nice to see you here. Yeah, Paradise is supposed to be about happy, sunny days forever, eh? Well, it sometimes just can’t work up the energy to deliver. I think that we’re beginning to move into the dry now, so maybe Eunie won’t be so grumpy in the mornings.

  5. MadDog Says:

    Bobbi, I’m happy to report that the weather is improving. Last saturday was a “Paradise Day.”