I busted up my hand yesterday.
And I smashed my computer into little pieces. I threw it against one wall of my
box-bedroom, and then another, threw it on the floor and beat the thing apart
with my fists. My right hand did most of
the hitting. By the end, the computer was
in little bits, there was blood all over the floor, and my right hand is
swollen today to the extent I can’t really use it. I still need to clean the blood off the floor,
and the computer didn’t belong to me. Ho
hum!
See, I drink too much.
And I have become numb to goings on around me. I am deep inside myself, and I don’t know
whether I’ll get out – but more than anything I want to. The hidden away but persistent pain I feel
day to day is a mixture of regret, anger, guilt and frustration at my inability
to be good at life.
No one knows how miserable I really feel. And its no surprise since I never say for
fear of appearing even worse at life than I may already seem. There’s probably only one person who can
gauge how I am feeling, and I lie to her, and I can’t for all the bananas in
Brazil understand how she feels in return: believe me I have tried, and tried,
but my powers of perception are about the same, perhaps less than a blinded
Kakapo.
A Kakapo is a flightless parrot native to New Zealand . Kakapos are largely regarded as some of the
dumbest creatures in the universe as we know it – they spend most of their time
walking into trees, or falling out of them in a sorry heap.
It could be that if a Kakapo and I were let loose at a test-conditioned
social gathering, while the Kakapo might end up dropping unconscious from the
drinks cabinet, or braining itself on the corner of the drinks table, by the
same juncture I would be long since knocked out on top of it. And who would the assembled guests take
pity on and seek medical attention for?
Naturally, the Kakapo. And who, again, could blame any of them?!
Moreover, even Kakapos, in spite of their marvellously
unattractive appearance – dowdy plumage, round face, heavy carriage, short legs,
large feet - are able to find at least one of their species to mate with. A male Kakapo, when courting a female, will
emit a low frequency booming call from his bowel region by inflating his
thoracic sack, starting off at a low grunt, continuing on for up to eight
hours, the call travelling kilometres!.
This is far beyond my stamina and vocal range. It is not that I – a homosapien – am above it.
Then there are days when I live in hope, but its a hope that
lasts about as long as toddler’s sandcastle (or that of a baby Kakapo). The tide ebbs and flows with my mood, and I
am consistently astounded how much my fellow human beings are apparently
enjoying life: smiling, laughing with genuine joy (not purely out of relief),
sharing generously in each others successes.
Etcetera, etcetera …
… And yet in writing most of the above I realise I have
committed the sin of ingratitude.
Life can always be a whole lot better. Similarly, in my
current place, it could be damn sight more dreadful, and I more inept. Kakapos incidentally, are, as of the
beginning of this year, on the critically endangered species list since they really
happen to be so phenomenally bad at life.
Nevertheless, all I can say is that I pray someone will one
day take pity on me – a human Kakapo – just as the kindly New Zealanders have
done to the preserve Kakapos surviving, if not thriving, in their beautiful country.
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