News about Mrs Nobright from Nowhere

As Writing 101 draws to its close, the staff is getting sentimental. They want us to describe the melodrama of a landlord evicting an old widow as seen by a twelve-year-old boy. Thanks, I’ll pass on this tear jerker. I’ll re-do this sad story into a grotesque story in the vein of Flannery O’Connor (whom I hate, but she has a point). This is a newspaper cutting from Nowhere News, an obscure regional paper.

NOWHERE – Yesterday a retired woman jumped out of the window to interrupt the work of debt collectors.

Ida Nobright (68) owes three months’ rent for her five-bedroom council flat. When authorised debt collectors required to be let in her flat, Mrs Nobright invited them in and “was ready to negotiate”. The debt collectors say Mrs Nobright suffered from “a hysterical seizure” when they informed her she must clear the flat immediately. The debt collectors claim they could not prevent Mrs Nobright from jumping out of the window of her flat because her action came unexpected and with “surprising agility”.

Mrs Nobright fell down from the third floor on the house’s common vegetable garden. She was transported to the nearest hospital in Somewhere with a broken leg, concussion and multiple scratches and bruises. The hospital representative says her life is “not in danger”.

There was a twelve-year-old eyewitness to Mrs Nobright’s fall, who testifies he heard a woman’s screams. When he looked in direction of the noise, he saw Mrs Nobright plunging herself “like Mary Poppins” out of a window. Police searches for further witnesses. No charges are pressed at the moment.

Mrs Nobright apparently lived in her flat alone since the death of her husband three months earlier. She has an extended family, including her six sons, who live in Faraway. Her son Jon Nobright (42) says he is “shocked” and he had “no idea mom was in trouble”. Mr Nobright has already contacted the town council of Nowhere and offered to settle his mother’s debts.

Poetic Manifesto

Neither Emily Dickinson,

nor Sylvia Plath.

No one should want to be

emulating their

a

g

o

n

y.

On Penis Envy and Fear of Murder

Writing 101 staff is getting Freudian. They want us to psychoanalyse ourselves by writing out our greatest fear. As Dr Freud enlightened me, my greatest fear already materialised itself when I was born a girl. In his apparent ignorance concerning women, Freud believed that girls were nothing but castrated boys. Every woman then suffers from castration complex, desires to have a penis and also plots to marry her father.

I’d hate to disappoint anyone, but I feel the need to ensure my male readers that Freud’s hypotheses about women are fabrications. I wonder if Freud was more successful in defining the fears and desires of men. I very much hope he was wrong here too. I don’t like the thought that I was my husband’s second choice because what he wanted in the first place was to kill his father and marry his mother. If any man reads this, is that what you want?

My greatest fear is actually the fear that I’ll murder myself. Not by the way of suicide, that would be at least deliberate. I fear that I’ll murder myself accidentally and involuntarily. I fear that I’ll go to sleep and won’t wake up anymore. My fears are based on mysterious things happening to me while asleep. In the last few days, I woke up successively with a sharp stabbing pain in my eye, an irritated purple patch on my leg and a bloody scratch on my nose.

Daytime is not too easy on me either. I’m the kind of person who moves like she’s constantly drunk and wearing high heels, though I’m neither. No door is wide enough for me to pass through it smoothly. Normal doors tend to hit me in my face. Automatic doors won’t open for me. I keep on hitting walls and furniture like a malfunctioning Roomba. I think I’m conspiring to kill myself without my own knowledge. That’s my greatest fear.

#334 Teacher’s Scotch Whisky

“Teacher’s Scotch Whisky” (top left): how, oh how did I miss this?!

#333 My Shadow

This is me being creepy.

In the Shade

The cat is not weirdly striped; it’s just shadow play on her fur.

#332 Soft Buds

All I can say is my usual: whatever it is. Ronovan has a much better explanation, though:

There she is again
Staring at us with that thing
We hide our eyes from her
But we peek from behind a bud wing

I wonder if she would keep snapping
If she knew what came before
Yes, beneath her stems
A cat relieved . . . on the forest floor

Weekly Photo Challenge: Contrast

What’s best about this photo is that though it is retouched for colours, sharpness, contrast (ha!) and others, the sunburst and bokeh are indeed the real thing. In response to WordPress Weekly Photo Challenge: Contrast.

#331 Scared

This statue looks very scared to me. Aren’t there any nice statues at all? In contrast to the unlovely statue, here is a lovely poem by my volunteer collaborator Ronovan (don’t forget to check out his blog!):

I must say to thee,
No, you are not welcome here,
Now away with you.

#330 Limbs

This is a lot of trees growing from a single spot, isn’t it? A huge thanks to Ronovan for his poem to go with the image:

Lean on me in age
As the young ones grow taller,
Their roots bring our fall.