This is probably more an apology to myself, or maybe a series of excuses, maybe an unexpected morning coffee cup followed by an even more unanticipated self-analysis served as a topping on some poorly looking Danish smørrebrød, only rye bread and some mushroom pâté, moving flats is a stressful thing and you start realising how much of an incompetent human being you are when your non-buttered bread begins visually resembling the sheer sudden confusion of not being able to glide the knife smoothly, the thing is you realise you have to purchase a knife sharpener and occasionally perform a short conducting piece against its surface, a bit like an orchestra maestro or a magician, either exceeding or at least successfully creating a beautiful illusion of self-belief and accomplishment, and strength, and worth, and maybe even of a force moving you forward, otherwise known as ambition, but the kitchen drawers as well as your entire adult years are non-inclusive of knife sharpeners, only short term memory problems, re-occurring existential questions, that you have bored yourself to death with, j’en ai marre with the anecdote of life, the forces only stone you to death with the stones supplied by yourself. Quite a magician I am after all.
The last week marked a milestone in the linear progression of a human’s life, except that mine has always looked and felt more like a lemniscate, both figuratively and metaphorically, marked it with a nasty cold that seemed to have developed in not the strongest immune system (to anything) overnight as an illicit foetus of the confusing and confused sun rays of the last days of Indian summer and a slightly open window of a foreign place that I had not yet accustomed to label as home, and while the process of adaptation is in progress and the previous sentiments felt towards the family home will be almost buried under frying pans, can openers, food shopping, budgeting lists, self-realisation, loneliness, an odd imbalance between sign-ups for volunteering to look after refugee children and sign-ups for Tinder, Bumble, and other online human markets, and a correlation between the coffee cups consumed and the hours spent pondering the significance of the godly knife sharpener, the self-indulgence pre-function-as-an-adult-and-that-means-make-your-own-decisions-and-be-blamed-or-praised-for-them schmaltz seems to be like the only thing that maybe gave some sense to the infinity symbol-like vague understanding of self-concept and its probable nurturing nature or prosperous functions, and now it is crumbling between the teeth and I am expected to human up and not only to stomach it but also make sure that I always buy a fresh good quality bread.
I have been ill for a week and I still haven’t bought a knife sharpener. Frankly, I don’t think I need it, the blunt edge would still stab the dull taste of the Danish bread crumbles good enough.
