Evasion manquée…
La journée a été harassante, et les corvées quotidiennes s’y sont ajoutées. La fatigue se fait sentir et je n’arrive plus à me concentrer sur ma tâche.
J’ai le vertige; je m’affale sur le fauteuil. Ca ne devrait pas durer en principe, mais cette fois-ci je me sens vraiment mal. Papillottes devant les yeux, tremblant de partout, je suis trempé de sueur, j’étouffe. Je tente de me lever pour marcher un peu, reprendre mon souffle et me calmer, mais mes jambes ne me portent plus.
Je retombe en arrière. Bon sang, je dois me bouger le train, ce n’est pas le moment de me laisser aller comme ça. Je me redresse péniblement, soufflant comme un boeuf et bouillant de colère. Alors que je tente de marcher, une douleur fulgurante me submerge.
Déjà? Non! C’est trop tôt! Je ne veux pas, je ne peux pas… J’ai encore à faire, à apprendre, j’ai des enfants, des amis, alors pourquoi maintenant? Le vertige redouble, et je m’asseois comme je peux sur le sol pour éviter de chuter lourdement. Je souris intérieurement… peur de tomber alors que ma toquante s’est bloquée et qu’apparemment c’est hors garantie!
Je tousse pour tenter faire circuler le sang au moins un peu, le temps de trouver moyen d’appeler du secours, mais je restre prostré, recroquevillé; je me tiens les côtes, la respiration sifflante, de plus en plus difficile et de plus en plus douloureuse.
C’est trop tôt, je dois me reprendre, mais je n’en ai plus les moyens. Mon palpitant est maintenant inerte et déjà je sens mes mains, mes bras s’engourdir et se refroidir. Entrouvrant les yeux, j’aperçois le téléphone, un mètre à peine devant moi. Si près mais déjà inatteignable. Une dernière quinte de toux, ma respiration ralentit, ma vue se trouble.
Trop tôt, mais je me résigne, et tant pis pour les projets, la musique, le dessin et l’écriture; adieu la famille…
Mon corps totalement engourdi, toute douleur ayant entièrement disparu, j’abandonne une lutte que je sais désormais perdue. “C’est la vie”. Sur ce dernier sursaut d’ironie, mon dernier souffle m’échappe, et si ma carcasse vide me retient encore un peu, ce dernier lien avec la vie s’atténue et disparait totalement.
C’est l’heure, alors advienne que pourra; je m’évade du monde avec délectation…
Ouvrant les yeux, un peu désorienté dans la pénombre du matin, je mets quelques moments pour réaliser que le réveil-matin vient de sonner. Une évasion manquée, rien de plus …
Raining cats and dogs
“Raining cats and dogs
Cleaning the air
Watering the soil
Freshening my soul”
Dreams and Eternity
Just a thought :
“Dreams are meant for us to remember
That we are but a memory into eternity”
NanoWrimo, 2011 edition
Nanowrimo 2011 will start in five weeks from now…
Great! Evenings spent writing a story, an epic adventure, develop its plot, its places and its characters…
… well to be true, I’m scared stiff
What if last year I had only had some kind of beginner’s luck? Worst, I don’t even know how, or when, or where a gator will find its place!!! Arghhh!
I have the very start or a plot, but this novell may end up being far less linear than “Page blanche” . I’ll have to work the plot much harder, but since I wasn’t much further last year I may reach my goal.
Well, I’d better calm down and – pious hope – take profit of September to get ready.
Nanowrimo, édition 2011…
Encore une semaine et un mois, et voici le nanowrimo 2011..
Chouette! Des soirées passées à écrire une histoire, une aventure, une épopée pourquoi pas, en développer l’intrigue (ou pas), les lieux, les personnages, …
… en fait j’ai les jetons !!!
Et si l’an dernier, ça avait été la chance du débutant? Pire, je ne sais même pas comment ni où ni quand je vais pouvoir caser un gator!!!!! Arghhh!
J’ai bien un début de commencement d’idée, mais l’histoire risque d’être beaucoup moins linéaire que l’an dernier. Va falloir bosser dur sur la trame, mais vu que l’an dernier je n’étais pas plus avancé que ça, je me dis que ça devrait le faire quand même…
Bon on va se calmer et profiter du mois et quelques pour se mettre au point (veux pieux mais quand même).
Et si je pouvais participer à un write in ou deux…
A few advices I’ve been given
- Happiness is largely a choice
- Feel gratitude for all of the good in your life
- Spend time contemplating nature
I would simply add
- Don’t take yourself too seriously
Into the ceiling
Once more the Lumbar brothers have made a fuss, putting me into forced rest. Sister Sciatic did nothing this time.
Nothing to do but stay still and do some potatoe couching while listening to some nice, gentle music. Hopefully the playlist is rather long, and I must be very far from its end.
My moves are limited to the very strict necessity. No interesting book at hand, still no wifi at home, so it is rather complicated to read the news or simply to get some distraction. Playing guitar is no more practical in this position, needless to say about the bass or the didge.
Today is my second “dead rat” special day. I can’t sleep in spite of my meds, although their box holds the yellow sign saying “do not drive when under this medication”; I should be snooring like a cat under the spring sun. Simply I can’t.
Outside the birds are having their day-to-day musical performance. This is a great help while slowly getting up in the morning, or while evacuating one’s soul in the evening, but still, no effect. My brain is running; ideas and thoughts come and go, but until the Lumbar brothers are quiet again there will be no real rest for me.
Lying on the sofa I can only spend my time watching the ceiling. It is rather low in my home, at a little more than seven feet. Beware to its woodden beams as they can make you see a few stars. The ceiling is white, but the number of white nuances is astounding, varying with the light intensity, the covered material and its surface. The beams show the grain of their wood, while the coating slightly shines.
It is spring, and a few flies are having a walk up there, as if they were on a frozen lake that would have been brought there upside down. Are they really on the ceiling, or else am I lying onto their ceiling? I bet they don’t care about it, and methink they care more about the octopod weavers hidden in the borders. They could so quickly be trapped into a web; no need to end up as a meal for those greeds. They are surely still very hungry after the drowsiness of this rather long and cold winter . One of them has left her former skin next to the window.
The ceiling, which a few minutes ago still seemed a uniform surface now looks like a slopped landscape with hills, impacts craters, mounds, and even pits that could morphe into ponds if the ice started to melt. Now this landscape in not as slick as it seemed, but rather grainy and uneven. While lowering down the horizon, the sun brings more light, producing what could be a false sunrise, just before letting the night come down.
By letting my sight wander onto this unlikely country, the surface starts to dance and shiver. A few darks spots appear here and there, but disappear as soon as I try to fix my eyes onto them. Is it an optical illusion, or else a funny side effect of something else? Slowly abandonning its relative flatness the ceiling is now taking more and more depth, up to swallowing me up in its improbable slopes. I am now flying within its serpentine valleys, each moment coming closer to its surface, so close that I can distinct fractures, canyons and abysses that make it look like the chitinous skin of some benthic arthropod.
My flight accelerates, and the landscape slips quicker and quicker around me. Here and there I vaguely notice creatures, most of them as stunned as me. Some seem to have threatening intentions but most are totally indifferent to my incursion into their territory. One more acceleration and I suddently recover some height, just before a last sharp incurvation of my path leads me straight towards the ground in an astounding acceleration.
I open my eyes into the weak light of the evening ; the ceiling has recovered its usual frozen lake appearance. The trip is over.
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