Day 78. 36 pages, 14,839 words.
Today (that is to say, Monday) has not gone well. I started the day with a rather unsuccessful writing session, since I wrote literally not a single word all weekend due to a bunch of other (admittedly very enjoyable) stuff going on. I made an early morning of it and was crusty-eyed and grumpy already, and didn’t really manage to peel the congealed skin off my creative juices before it was time to go to work.
Got out of the house by 06:15am, it was raining as I began my slog through the forest to Nissas for my bus. First annoyance was that I had ripped my iPod headphones apart when they caught on a metro escalator fixture last Friday and, due to that aforementioned bunch of other (admittedly very enjoyable) stuff going on, I didn’t get a chance to buy new ones all weekend.
So no music while I walked, which already put me in an even worse mood.
Then, I was almost to Nissas (about 15 minutes walking through sodden forest) when I remembered I had left my phone charging on the couch. “I’m certain to forget that,” I remember thinking to myself as I got changed. “I should put my bag or my shoes or my pants or something right next to it so I remember it when I leave.”
But I didn’t.
So I had to backtrack, through the forest, and then back again, adding another half hour to my commute time.
After spilling my breakfast on my desk, and fielding a few annoying e-mails that I replied to in what my co-workers described as an impressively diplomatic fashion considering the idiocy of the e-mails, I’m just about ready to go home already. And (as of writing) it’s just gone 10:00am.
This was my go-to response when congratulated on my diplomatic way of telling engineers that if they want to know what’s wrong in the manual, they’ll have to actually read it because if I try fixing what’s wrong in the manual they’re going to end up with a science-fiction story about a mammography machine that has a phobia of women’s breasts.
But anyway. I’ll get through this.
The weekend was fun, although as I mentioned, due to a bunch of other (admittedly very enjoyable) stuff going on, I was unable to write anything. I mean, I usually get some random words down on my phone at least, but not this weekend. It’s cool though, really. I’m just saying, I was already looking down the barrel of that and was a bit crabby about it.
Saturday, as predicted, a new nephew arrived in the family, which is great. Everything seems to be going well, I’ll see about writing something suitably soppy later on. Mrs. Hatboy headed out to a card fair, and I volunteered to watch Wump and Toop and Wally, since his folks were busy getting his new baby brother set up.
We hung out, had some breakfast, and then went for a hike in the forest. It was a glorious day. Wump took the lead, and we wound up walking about 2/3 of the way to Itä-Hakkila (about 4-5 km) through the forest. We finally emerged in some fields and I saw where we were, and said to the kids “alright, screw it. We’ll carry on to Itä-Hakkila, get some food at the supermarket, find a playground and wait for the whole thing to blow over.”
We started along the edge of the field, headed for the road on the far side. Google Earth shows nicely how far we went, and what we did.
It was quite the hike.
Then, then we ended up walking between the field (which looked to have been planted with hay or else was completely fallow, nevertheless I told Wump and Wally to stay off the crops, and just walk in the dirt at the edge of the forest) and this place.
This place, or “Miserable Old Cunty Hollow” as I have decided it is called.
Now, again, there was a garden bed here and of course I was aware that we weren’t on public land, we were no longer in the forest and technically we were trespassing on the land of … well, the farmer who rented the field? Something like that.
Either way, we were nowhere near this person’s yard, there was a small fence between the field and the garden beds, and again I told Wump and Wally to stay well away from the plants and just stick to the dirt area. I was carrying Toop on my shoulders at this point.
So then an old woman (okay, she’d’ve been in her sixties or seventies, or extremely miserable and cunty fifties, I’m going to go with that, because being a pissy old bat really prematurely ages you) comes out into her yard and starts calling out to us.
At first it was amicable enough. “Are you lost?” she called out (I’m translating from Finnish, shrill and unpleasant in her case and affably disjointed and foreign in mine, maybe that made me seem threatening, I don’t know. I hope it did, because if you’re threatened by a foreigner with three small children frolicking at his feet, just fuck you).
“Nope, just ran out of forest to walk through, we’re headed for the road,” I replied, pointing.
“You shouldn’t walk on my garden,” (this, I should add, all at a distance of fifty metres or so, against the wind and the sounds of the three kids I was trying to herd, so I had to get her to repeat herself several times, plus I couldn’t believe she was actually calling us out so I was trying to see if I had misunderstood).
“We’re not, I made sure the kids stayed away, sorry for the intrusion.”
“Yes, but still-” (this was where I realised I was dealing with a waste of my children’s oxygen) “I have strawberries that are about to start bearing fruit.”
“Uh, okay, we didn’t go anywhere near them, but sorry again.”
“Yes yes, you’re sorry, but you can’t walk on my strawberries.”
“So you say, but you can’t…” (I really can’t do justice to the Finnish “no juu juu, mutta” -form, there’s nothing remotely as pissy in English and we take pissiness from a lot of different languages).
This went on for an increasingly annoying length of time, as both Wump and Wally began to lose interest in the conversation and started asking me what the old woman’s problem was, and Toop got slowly heavier and sweatier on my shoulders. I told the concerned citizen once again that we were sticking to the edges of the fields and completely avoiding her garden and the crop of whatever-it-was, and that we knew we weren’t supposed to cross the fields and I was sorry, and that we would be on our way. I’m not sure what the alternatives were. We could stay there forever, we could go back the way we’d come, or we could just cross the space and be out of her hair. So I went with the latter option.
She continued to shout after I’d smiled and waved as cheerfully as I could and headed away from Miserable Old Cunty Hollow as briskly as possible.
The last time she tried to scold us I switched to English and called back “alright then, go fuck yourself.”
Then we continued on to Itä-Hakkila, and picnics, and playgrounds, and ice cream. It was brilliant.
Not my finest hour, but I had something of an epiphany that morning.
It’s not that nice guys finish last. That’s a whiny cop-out.
The problem with the world is that miserable self-centred cunts don’t get told to go fuck themselves often enough. That’s the problem.
So, I fixed that in my own little way.