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Two grooves
The coffee is steaming leisurely in the kitchen when I pass out. I remember the coffee, also because I can see myself hitting the floor.
I don’t see myself from the outside, as the eyewitnesses report on TV, when once again the afterlife, the near-death as a grumpy revenant is pressed into the 23:00 slot. No, rather I look out of me. Someone else is falling. Quietly, a green-black metallicity envelops me, through which all the world changes to dark mode.
If I ever needed a coffee, it would be now.
Am I wearing clean underpants?, the question saunters innocently into my still wondering mind. I never knew I could be so sober. And am relieved. Yes. All is well on that front. A good 20 years ago, I removed all the emergency underpants from my fabric treasure trove. Again, 20 years after the insistent advice of my grandmother, who never tired of warning: “Young, if you ever have n accident and come to the hospital with this torn Unterbüx, then it is bannig embarrassing”.
That was important to her: a well-groomed accident.
As I lie there and look out of myself, I ask myself two things at the same time. I didn’t know that about myself before; as if two layers of thinking were spinning in my head. Not at the same speed, more like the display on my old Technics record player, visually forming a floating groove in the opposite direction to indicate…
