Eid Mubarak! Where?!

Asking Timothy Weeble about the sensation of losing balance will inevitably bring an instinctive smile of knowing to his flawlessed face. He knows because he is either in a perpetual state of losing balance or because it is something he has never experienced at all. The latter sources his electrically curious ponderment on the subject, and the resultantly by-produced knowledge which could be scraped from the surface of his bubbling pool of fantastically colourful thoughts and, when applied to a slice of hole in this wisdom, would very well supersede that of one who had lost balance from fault line time to time and only considered the subject twice.

Ramadan had just entered the room and no sooner had the formally unnecessary formalities of meeting and greeting and congratulating been signed and completed than I was vehemently being poked in the back and the rug was pulled right out from beneath me.

Boo! It’s over! Eid Mubarak!

I do beg your pardon? But I was just marching up these stairs right here and suddenly there were no more steps and my foot came down hard and I was very surprised. As I stood swaying, somewhat stubbornly unconvinced and somewhat bewildered at the factual and seemingly evasive nature of the boo, I felt the skullabite virus creeping along my pained sinus, clutching and climbing diligently, with clear malice aforethought, from the back of my unassuming, blameless nose to what geographically feels like right there inside my head. Within the scrooge sized space of thirty seconds, sellotaped tightly as fate to the thread of time, it declared that it didn’t have to fake it if it could make it and that it had indeed made it.

In the feverish fit of fever, Eid observed me and then left just in time not to catch me when the earth rose up and hit me twice. TooReFo, my in-house research department, has rolled out the Google filing cabinet and, after a hasty perusal, informed me that it is conventional to faint with your eyes open.

‘A couple shots of alcohol should set you right.’ Paramedic George prescribed.

‘Well, I don’t drink. Anything else I could try?’

‘Nah, don’t do anything.’

Technically, in such a collapse, one does not experience the delightful, quasi-outer-body phenomenon of physical detachment [losing balance]- only that of one moment being stood with an intention to gargle and the next minute feeling the floor wrap itself around you and the radiator trying to intervene. Then you find your way up but the floor insists once again.

Gravity, gravity, gravity. It holds down my journals as I fill them with spells and theories that do everything but abide by Newton’s laws. In His praise, my feet are always ten feet off the ground.