Today morning, at about 10 a.m., the living room's mechanical fan broke down. It's safe to say that my father was most responsible for it. Imagine well over 20 hours a day, non-stop, and not getting a single dime. That's how it must have felt, and understandably, with a swish and subtle "pow" before it's gone forever, we had to say goodbye to the grey fan and salute it for its dedication. We here are me and the other fans, my father not included.
Naturally, I thought the best (if not only) thing to do was to give up my bedroom fan and donate it to the scorching brick prison that is the living room. After a few bickerings, my father accepted the humble offer, and thus, I moved the big old friend to said living room.
My father (or my entire family at this point) is not a fan of heat (see what I did there?). Even with the aid of the new helper, he insisted on turning the AC after lunch, claiming it was too hot to bear. After a good 2 hours, both the rooms were freezing, and the new main attraction of the living room was put into forgotten.
No sooner before that was I just finishing the fourth chapter of 'The Great History', written by Donna Tartt. We were just getting to the good part I presume, but the heaviness of my lids started to alarm me about my upcoming state of drowsiness, and so I put down my E-reader and started to resume my ongoing daily ruminations. The thought of deadlines coming closer yet knowing full well I have a few good days before having to submit anything, was tiring.
I despised the idea of turning on the AC (or even the fan) just to close the curtain on the beautiful, glistering sunlight outside the windows. Was sleep in a cool that important to ignore the temptation which nature was putting on us? Middle school me would brush off the idea right away and call anyone who embraces evening's sunlight, a lunatic. She was not fond of brightness, you see. Not just with having her curtains shut for the entire day, she actually especially loathe the graphic imaginations of any daylight entering the room after 12 p.m. "It is disgusting, and filled with yellow of piss", she would say.
It's somewhat unexpected to imagine that such a girl a few years later would love to bask in the sun, never enjoying the idea of closing any curtains in her house. Time really does change people, for better or for worse.
This all went through my head just a few minutes ago. After bits of reminiscing about a questionable past habit (have you ever ask a dementia patient about detail in their past?), I went straight to the fridge and took out a cup of boba and put in some ice. Ever since the introduction of unnecessary comfort (usually accompanied by a cold drink followed by hours of doing nothing productive in the evening) was dawned upon me, I couldn't stop doing otherwise. This was becoming the only way I know how to enjoy myself while doing nothing.
I did, however, manage to pull off something productive today. After careful consideration, I turned on my laptop and did write something down. As my memory loss is becoming more severe, journaling altogether doesn't seem so ridiculous and boring anymore. It's actually verging on the side of productivity.
It would be horrendous for me to end the post with a short and edgy remark that was so blatantly stolen of pop-culture pieces like "To live forever". Or just the slightest idea of using Icelandic (any near-death language at this point) to say goodbye to readers is visually abhorrent, cringy to say the least. But since when did I become such a better being to not do any of these things?
Takk, og less.