auf wiedersehen

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Waking up begins with saying am and now. That which has awoken then lies for a while staring up at the ceiling and down into itself until it has recognised I, and therefore deduced I am, I am now. Here comes next, and is at least negatively reassuring; because here, this morning, is where it had expected to find itself; what’s called at home. But now isn’t simply now. Now is also a cold reminder, one whole day later than yesterday, one year later than last year. Every now is labelled with its date, rendering all past nows obsolete, until - sooner or later - perhaps - no, not perhaps - quite certainly: It will come.

I watched a car drive over the ‘Valla Beach dog’ Ruby today. A handful of people and I had to soothe her while she died; I had to try talk to the vet on the phone and still look collected in front of everyone because I was at work and the guy didn’t hear me when I tried to call out that she was under his car sunbaking on the warm asphalt. He drove away without even looking to see what his car has driven over - twice. I had to try looking like I wasn’t breaking down because I didn’t want to upset the owners who were trying to explain to their young sons why Ruby wouldn’t get up. We just stayed with her and waited til she died, and I called Ricky and he got me home and now I can’t stop thinking about the way she looked and how I couldn’t help the owners properly and couldn’t even get that man to stop before he drove right over her. I’m a mess and all I feel is sadness for the poor family who had walked their dog up to the cafe and driven her back home in the boot.