tiny fists of fury and die alle letzte dresksau

Over the years I’ve had a lot of nicknames, though few have stuck around for long—Pajama Girl, Tiny Fists of Fury, and Sweepstakes. Now the people who once called me those things live way across the sea, and the names have faded into memory.

These days I have two new nicknames. The first is die alle letzte Drecksau—which means something along the lines of the biggest, dirtiest pig of all time and which I earned with a remark about how I’ve eaten enough mold (accidentally of course) at this point in my life that it no longer affects my bowels. And the second is the Hamster.

In German the verb hamstern means to hoard supplies and is used much as its English equivalent to squirrel something away. Which would probably make Hamster the most fitting nickname yet; I no longer even own pajamas, my fists have been stilled, and the name Sweepstakes never had anything to do with anything anyway, but oh do I hoard.

Hoarding is part of being a scrounger. If you don’t take something you might need when you see it and store it away, you’re not necessarily going to find it again. If there’s free scrap wood in the dumpster down the street one summer day, better take it so that when winter comes you’re ready and don’t have to shell out 50-100 euros for stove wood. My father refers to it as my “Polish peasant instinct” because apparently it runs in the family. Me, I just feel more comfortable when the pantry and the wood shed are both full because you never do know what is going to happen.

You never know, for example, when you’re going to be laying in bed, feeling like a lollipop that’s been sucked almost down to the stick and forgotten on the couch, and wishing that someone else would come along and bring you hydrating liquids and light the wood stove. And of course on the day when it does happen, the wood shed is empty. You see, I take turns sawing up logs and chopping wood with the non-plannerest of non-planners, he’s away for the weekend, and I’m too tired to haul logs.

Sick in the winter—it’s the only time anymore when the thought of apartment life sounds even remotely appealing. Heat you can turn up and down with a dial! A bathroom that is both nearby and not possibly occupied by guests from the party/concert/vokü going on right now! The nostalgia never lasts for long though. Either, like tonight, I pull myself together, borrow some already-chopped wood and kindling from the kitchen, light the stove and scare up orange juice or I revel in the fact that I live with 18 friends who are always willing to help each other out of a fix.

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...
Friday December 11th 2009, 8:23 pm 4 Comments
Filed under: conspiracies,daily life,wagenplatz

4 Comments so far. Please leave a comment.

i feel like i know all about all of this (probably because you write like that, where it seems like you’ve both taken your subject out of AND pre-implanted it into your reader’s head… i.e. very good word-wringing & reference-wrangling). i know much of the hoarding stuff from both a gleeful obsession with such, and an equally-liberating flushing of the tendency – when i get to feeling too weighed down.

as for sharing names with rodents, i am of course a “guinea pig” in suomi, which, here in the land from whence YOU came, is slang-ed as “one who the universe fucks with for fun to see how i’ll blunder this time” (probably would happen to me in finland too – tests of my will are undoubtedly universal).

so, it sounds like you get guinea pigged too (just be thankful, ESPECIALLY in the cold, that you aren’t a “skinny pig” or “baldwin”…which would be cute if they weren’t the result of lab experiments and purebreeding for exploitative shows/competitions: http://www.sphynxncavies.com). i’m so impressed by all that you’ve done in the face of wagon-eatin’ molds and that ominous employment monster, prowling around with its promises of silly things like rent-able dwellings with private monogrammed towel-decorated bathrooms & those shackles that come with such dullness & entanglement back there inside its wretched grasp.

but you’ve found a hole through which to loop back around to freedom (chewed your way through like the molds do), and even more importantly, you’ve got that last thing that i can identify with only in its absence from my life thus far: yer tribe.

i reckon you won the sweepstakes…and the relevance of everything rolls on & on & on.

Comment by marsu 12.12.09 @ 9:37 am

thanks for leaving such beautiful and joy-spreading comments marsu. i read this one this morning before chopping wood and kept smiling walking around seeing the people i live with around doing the same and thinking of them as my tribe.

Comment by clickclackgorilla 12.12.09 @ 5:37 pm

are welcome.

can i say “i miss you” if our new skin-shed selves have never even met? we’ve got these tiny little needles fallen from our seedling past, ya know? hmmmmm. i can just say that i’m magnetized by whatever fragments linger and all the rest of this new static pulling me to some place in between our almost 6,000 mile rift, friend.

oh, i think the place just about right in the middle is actually newfoundland. excellent. see you.

Comment by marsu 12.15.09 @ 7:23 pm

i feel exactly the same way. see you in newfoundland.

Comment by clickclackgorilla 12.15.09 @ 10:39 pm




Leave a comment
Line and paragraph breaks automatic, e-mail address never displayed, HTML allowed:
<a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>

(required)

(required)