Pic of the day, part i: Conquest of Air, by Roger-Noel-Francois de La Fresnaye
No one can flatter himself that he is immune to the spirit of his own epoch, or even that he possesses a full understanding of it. Irrespective of our conscious convictions, each one of us, without exception, being a particle of the general mass, is somewhere attached to, colored by, or even undermined by the spirit which goes through the mass. Freedom stretches only as far as the limits of our consciousness.
Carl Jung, Paracelsus the Physician
Continued from yesterday:
She yelled over the still playing music “Don’t forget to work on the leak in the A/C after you get back!”
“Can do, babe!” I yelled as I locked the first of two doors I have to get through to get outside.
“I’ll get to it when I get to it.” I said under my breath two seconds afterwards to no one in particular. I wasn’t interested in doing anything but running at that point, but I knew I’d have to do the damn job and it wasn’t gonna be easy, because I’ve never done this particular job before.
That is something for later. For now, toe the line and run in the heat and the sun. The sun burned hard on the exposed skin, and heated the rest so much that it felt like it had sprung a leak. Especially when running under such an angry sun.
The run from the house to the park was a short and fast one, five minutes on a fairly steep downhill. The shade on the run paths where it existed was welcome, even though it was sparse. It gave small moments of respite in the unrelenting heat of the late June afternoon.
Regardless of that shade I was soaked with sweat. I had initially thought I was going to long, but the great cascades of heat that emanated both from the ground and the sun convinced me otherwise. The ground heat was the worst for some reason. The heat from the sun you expected, but from underneath it felt almost like I was being fried, or broiled like some dumb animal carcass that was about to taste fantastic to someone.
I prefer running in the winter for several reasons, that being one of them.
There were not too many other crazy people out there running. Or walking their dogs. Or walking. Or anything. The unusual heat wave was keeping people indoors, which I did not mind. Gave me the run paths unopposed. No families to have to negotiate like some summer park slalom course. No bike riders to have to run around, no dog walkers leaving shit on the ground for the rest of us to enjoy.
After 2 quick laps of enjoying the 100 degree heat and not bursting in flames, I made my way home. I knew I was going to have a lot of sweaty, hot work to do. And after all that sweating while running. I thought to myself “Joy! This ought to be fun! I have no idea how I’m gonna fix this crap!” Working with the windows open in this heat was going to be a bitch for my wife and there was no way around having to do it.
It’s either that or take the air conditioner out, work on it, the put it back in the window, and hope the temperature in the brick apartment didn’t rise to 300 degrees and cook us all.
After running up the hill that I had run down 30 minutes prior, I came back home. The leak was as bad as it was before, and I had no idea how exactly to fix it, or at least to stop it from leaking into my downstairs neighbors apartment and damaging his walls.
I saw my wife at the window as I crossed the start/finish line. She waved cheerily, like a woman happy to see her man back home. I waved like a man who had just run 6 miles in the burning sun.
Thirstily. I smiled at my wife on the second floor, and made my way back inside. With the windows closed she wouldn’t hear me talk so I didn’t waste energy in trying. I pulled the key out of my pocket and walked to the front door. The keys were soaked, my hands were soaked, my shorts were soaked. I said aloud for anyone in the vicinity to hear, which was even with my wife upstairs, exactly no one “Why the hell do I do this to myself?”
I had no answer, and the world wasn’t answering, so I answered myself. I said “The same reason yer talking to yourself, you burned your brains and you don’t think straight, you dipshit!” Giggling at my sun addled insanity, I opened the door, locked it behind me and walked up the stairs and in. My wife, from her perch near the window said something. I couldn’t quite make it out, so I just said hello.
When I got to the top of the stairs, she said “Well?” I said “Wells are where they have water, and I’d love some.” She looked at me like I had 3 heads…
Pic of the day, part ii: Sitting Man, by Roger-Noel-Francois de La Fresnaye
Primitive superstition lies just below the surface of even the most tough-minded individuals, and it is precisely those who most fight against it who are the first to succumb to its suggestive effects.
Carl Jung, Synchronicity: An Acausal Connecting Principle
That’s it from here, America. G’night.