absolutely zambalouked – that’s it – zambalouked; there’s no other word for it, it’s indescribable without its forbears, and the whole interminable history of signs and symbols encountered en route.
First we had that dance routine, it starts with the knees this time. A dull throbbing ache vibrates through shins and sets the feet in motion. Next it’s the wrists that ache, a slow burning fuse that sets the heavy upper limbs in discomforted motion, and then the nausea begins.
Elbows insist the arms must stretch, release the terpsichoreal spasms that shudder down from the armpits. Turn onto belly, cross arms behind the pillow, stretch legs and hook toes over the mattress end to stop their flailing burn.
Do you know that, this time, I thought I’d gotten away with it.
Nice bright weather coaxed me out of my cocoon, just a little light weeding here, tack down some mineral felt there. Can’t have been more than a couple of hours exertion spread across two days.
Then there was the modest change of 27litres of water from the 180litre aquarium, 3 buckets full either way, and that’s my exercise!
I wallowed in that grand illusion; this time no payback. Guess what …
A couple of days later the nocturnal dance followed by this achingly shattered, confused emptiness, a totally zambalouked experience. Absolutely zambalouked, that’s all I’ve got to say!
Entranced by the strangest zambalouk.
this post originally appeared (earlier today) on my “The Word of Sinna Luvva” weblog.