Drill Machine Mornings
Or how to not take yourself too seriously.
This morning I woke up to the sweet purr of a drill machine, audible so close to my dreams, engulfed in the soft salty wind of a white sandy beach, making a perfect cocktail of sensations with the turquoise waters and luscious greenery I was dreaming about. I wake up. My allergy wakes up with me. I start to sneeze. I keep sneezing for minutes on end, until my eyes start watering, then my nose is runny, then I sneeze again, blow my nose, the works.
The drill is on to my every move. But it’s no longer alone. Behind the closed door, the cats sprang to life. Their view on the situation is that I’m a bitch for sneezing so many times before feeding them, so they start meowing. They’re professionals at it, so they meow on 2 voices: the girl has this down and low sound to her, while the boy uses high pitched, sharp short sounds, like an ice pick through the brain. It’s a full blown concert the moment one of the 2 culprits starts methodically scratching at the door. I wonder for a second whether to take the ear plugs out of the drawer and go back to the beach or just get out of bed and feed the furry monsters.
As I had a lot of water the night before, I had no other option but to wake up. I open the door. Behind it, round faces, big surprised eyes, attentive ears and the most compliant expressions possible, filled with love and gratitude that I woke up. I look at them with opaque half closed eyes. They show me the way to the kitchen, running before my feet in the only direction I am allowed to go so I can serve my life purpose — to feed them. I decide to go to the bathroom, though, so the meowing starts again: Mew! MAAAWWW, Mew! MAAWWW, etc.
Finally, I go to pour some nibbles for them the same direction the drilling sound is coming from. My neighbor is renovating his apartment, which is breathing down my neck close to mine. This is already the 3rd week of drilling machines, axes, falling walls, debris, sledge hammers, workers joyously yelling construction site profanities and basically all the elements so necessary to the whole process of refurbishing and construction work.
As I didn’t sleep very well, because my beach was rather fun oriented than relaxation inclined, I am sleepy, grumpy and feeling deep inside me the drilling rhythm, noise and irritation. I have no idea how to approach this problem other than get dressed and go work from any other place, but I really don’t feel like it.
So I decide that rather than get angrier, how about I do the exact opposite? Namely, start laughing. Although I didn’t feel like it. I really didn’t, but sometimes I just have this macabre attraction for the absurd. So I start to laugh. And I laugh. And I keep laughing. And I laugh even harder. Wild laughter and as loud as possible. I laugh freely, like a crazy person.
At some point I really start honestly laughing, because my fake laughter is so colorful and funny that it starts to amuse me and I actually laugh. Eventually, I laugh with all my heart and it’s good. The drill machine keeps going, but it becomes just a dull sound. I feel good, really good. I also start dancing, like a natural transition. I dance in front of the mirror and allow myself to be as ridiculous as possible, so I laugh even harder. Apparently there are fake solutions leading up to real answers.
The moral of this story is this: this life is short and until you are born into your next one you might want to give your best shot in this one. If you don’t believe in reincarnation, this is the only life you’ve got so don’t waste it on uselessness. Don’t let the drill decide your state. Don’t let the drill wipe the smile off your face. Don’t let the drill ruin your life. The drill is just noise. Replace the word ‘drill’ with any word you want and be aware that except from your soul, all else is just noise!
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