Time shifts quickly in the early hours of the morn. I've been awake and up since 4am and time has passed with incredible speed. Already it's half past five and I've done virtually nothing. There is never pure quiet and yet the early morning quiescence is overwhelming silent to the point where I can hear myself breathe and the low hum of the computer is a kind of consolation, as is my tap tapping of the keys. I spent half of yesterday indoors, but because I'd also spent all day Tuesday at home having lunch with friends, I really needed to get out in between bouts of rain to have a good, solid walk. I found myself having coffee at a shop that was all but closing its doors and the owner bringing in the tables and chairs at 4.20pm. Quiet had descended upon everyone because of the inclement weather. There was absolutely no-one, either walking their dog or doing a run in the park opposite as I passed by on my way home. I'm remembering yesterday as I begin today and it's still dark. I imagine I am the only person up at this hour, not even the birds are awake, or if they are, they are still huddled together in the trees. Two cups of filtered coffee and one cup of tea, a few posts on face book and I've washed the dishes that I forgot to wash last night. I've only the bed to make and then I can get myself ready to head off to my appointment at the Royal Melbourne Hospital where I will be allergy tested. The long tram ride will enable me to catch up on some reading, or day-dreaming or just watching the world go by through the windows. My fantasy is always that I'll have the tram all to myself, that no-one will sit next to me and read a paper, folding and turning pages and sticking their arm near my face. My fantasy is that no-one will cough or sneeze, in my direction, that the tram won't be crowded, that no-one will be talking loudly on their mobile phone. I'm not good with the general public. I have absolutely no tolerance for other people's behavior, especially when it intrudes on my thoughts. 5.46am now. When is day-break? I want to be able to look out of the window and see if it's wet underfoot. I want to be able to assess what to wear. It's rather cold as I write, although I'm well rugged up. I am reminded of Winter and I notice as I look to the right of my desk, Neil Stephenson's novel Snow Crash. I open the cover, inside I've put a note to myself Cafe Bohemia, every second Thursday. This is yet another reference to the 90s as I read the book in 1992. Maybe when you meet someone from the past, as I have recently, you open a little door in your psyche that lets in all kinds of things and information. I really do prefer to remain in the now. It's 6am and I'm signing off.
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In the midst of our Summer your words bring a nostalgia for the quiet of wet days. A very descriptive piece of writing.
ReplyDeleteThanks for your lovely comment Merlene. As it turned out, an hour prior to my appointment with the immunologist I broke out in large red hives on my thighs. He examined me and took a case history and told me that since allergy testing was not an exact science all he could suggest was that I keep a diary for four months of foods, medicines, the environment (weather temperature/insects present), whether or not I’d been exercising prior to an inflammation or hive bodily response. Then, if a number of foods stood out as possible allergens, he could do a controlled test. It did feel like a Winter’s day yesterday.
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