Trance season
I will say the obvious: it is hot and humid. I am sitting in my office in a desperate attempt to do some writing. I just came back from a few days travelling around the island and have to admit that in this weather, living in Nicosia has to be the worst option possible. Anything, literally anything, is more bearable than the Messaoria frying-pan desert. Also, to make things worse, the season of little invisible insects that, in my case, concentrate on feet-biting, has just started. And the season of various technology failures.
Today it took me the whole morning to get my computer back on to the internet. But anyone thinking that it was due to the complexity of the problem would be wrong. No, it was the simple task of getting through to a Cytanet i-choice expert that took most of my daily energy away. You see, the demand for such assistance has recently increased greatly and a number of Cyta’s employees hasn’t, so even getting an uncomplicated advice can nowadays be a pain.
I just wonder how much of this increase in demand depends on the weather conditions and is a simple repetition of the same situation over and over again. This explanation could be right in my case. I think my modem just gets over-heated and starts performing seasonal tricks. Which means that in a weird way, Cyta might be right not to increase the number of its workers. But then last winter I also had similar problems (seasonal again?) and again had to wait up to 15 minutes for anybody to talk to me.
While I am on the subject, I just wish the music Cyta plays to entertain its customers was more inspiring… every time I have to queue for their assistance I end up almost brain-dead. Ha, now I understand! So this is what has happened to me today. Perhaps then I should sue Cyta for killing my daily creativity and putting my income at risk? Certainly it would make more sense than some other law suits focusing on culture that are currently taking place on the island, and I could make a lot of money out of it…
However, there is also the possibility that I might lose such a case. Lawyers could argue that my present lack of imagination is just caused by the heat. After all, everything and everybody in Cyprus slows down in July. It is as if we all suffer from atrophy of our brain cells. I can see it even in cats that forget about the whole world while trying to cross a street literally under my wheels. They look at my car as if hypnotised and then go straight underneath. But who can blame them for being brainless when the drivers behave exactly in the same way?
To be honest, every time we enter this period of the year I remember the reasoning introduced by Mersault, the protagonist of Albert Camus’ novel The Stranger, who after having killed a man on the beach, says it was hot, the man was unpleasant and he had a headache. Well, I have the feeling we are reaching almost the same state of seasonal heat-induced trance here.
This heat-induced brain atrophy actually made me worried today. You see, my cat Boom Boom was absent for the whole day. Yes, I know that both she and my other cat Trixie have recently had several issues with me, the main one being a small impudent stray female that moved into my kitchen about a month ago and gave birth to two kittens there (now they are living in my oven so I can’t cook). Still, Boom Boom wouldn’t move out over it and she is not the kind that usually misses her breakfast. What if she got herself into the brainless state and walked straight into a car driven by a brainless driver?
I went around the neighbourhood several times and called her to no avail. I came back home and for few minutes watched the stray female cat, her kids and, I guess, the husband, playing together in my kitchen. They suddenly stopped and looked at me questioningly, as if to say: “We live here. What are you doing here?” so I went out again. Next to the church I bumped into Astero.
“Have you seen any dead cats in the street today?” I asked. “Boom Boom is missing.”
“Boom Boom, your Boom Boom? The one that looks like a tiger and has a very shrieky voice?” she asked. “She is in my kitchen. She does this horrible noise every hour because she wants food from me. I gave her some ham for breakfast. Don’t worry about her.”
