Two out of three mysteries I solve all by myself.
Three days after my blood test I (finally) had a stronger allergic reaction that allowed me to narrow it all down to peanuts.
Indeed a nut I can live without. In any case, my human mind longs for confirmation.
Who needs doctors though for the little irritations in life. The nurse who took the blood was thoughtful enough. Even though I already walked out the door she still pondered over a possible lactose allergy.
The nuts would, to a certain degree explain my morning sickness, gasping for air and the weird itching in both my lower legs. Perhaps it also stands as a reason for my mood…the man on the moon who made it stop turning once more or even the flappy sound when seagulls walk over short wet grass.
One more thing I seriously wondered about…would it make a difference in meaning to say “Roman painted house” or “Painted Roman house”.
Many things aren’t truly planned. I said goodbye to this strictly German attitude a year ago.
On the train I imagine how I stand by a woman’s grave. Lilies in purple and white on the little piece of soil in front of her stone.
Then I hear a man’s voice say “Excuse me.” I turn around to face his hazel coloured eyes reflecting the grey sky. Only moments later he says my name and takes me in his arms. I know nothing of him.
Sure I can fantasize he’s an architect from London in his early thirties who listens to Chopin while he sketches the designs of a suburban greenhouse. Nothing of that I know.
All I can think is: When the dead get such beautifully coloured lilies from him, what shall the living receive?
Later on the bus I am certain my eyes caught the words “Thomas Hobbes lied.” on a window filled with condensed breadth.
