Foolish

1 april 2009, probably the first April's fools day that I didn't fool anyone. Why should I, when the world is fooling with me all year? I am the fool in the cardgame. Foolish. Fool. A strange tasting word, slightly bitter. Synesthetic, you would say, tasting words on your tongue while you write them, happy to use an unusual blue-ish one in a banal context.

There are things I can write. About the young purple heath in Zonhoven, the dog's tail dancing some meters in front of me, my grandparents showing their love in fresh tomatoes with spices, in watching a daily tv-quiz together and correctly guessing all the answers in the second round (even though we know we are only correct because the other candidate answered the same series of questions just some minutes before), by an soja dessert they kept in a corner of the fridge in case their only vegan grandchild would visit them finally. I love them. On my way I had been reading a book about a grandfather begging for euthanasia. Damn, euthanasia is everywhere the last week: a Belgian 93-year old went on a hunger strike because the doctors refused her a death in dignity, a documentary on the television about EXIT, an NGO in Swiss that helps people in killing themselves. Just knowing that my grandfather personally went to the city office on his bike to declare he wants a 'humane death' in case his health doesn't allow him to cut trees and collect stones anymore. Will life loose its worth for my opa when his bike does not allow him a ride anymore? Come on, he is only 81, is healthier than any other person his age I know. I understand the wish of a goed-death, I am just too selfish to think about saying goodbye. Even my 17 year old cat, whose furry skin has grown too large for her boony body, will live an eternal life in my perfect world.

There are things I can't write about. So I do. And fail... and miss... more than ever.