My name is Trygve and it’s kind of like this:
I fell out of a cement truck, which has been speeding and turning and rolling and spinning for years on end and finally barfed me back out onto the hot sun-baked pavement.
This is all metaphorically speaking, of course, but it’s the most appropriate way to describe what happened. Basically, I was out hitchhiking my life, and having a wild ride, when I got a bit stalled in Salalah, and I had to rethink things, and pull my neck inside, and cover my tiny kidneys. Then I couldn’t catch up. I went and waited and had some tea, and sat, and sat, and waited, thinking all this crap would abate. I nearly turned into a skeleton waiting there.
Eventually, after bunches of shit exploding from the fan, I got a ride on this cement truck, but then I got trapped in the back and it started spinning and all I could do was stay kind of upright, or at least not bang my head or aspirate my own vomit. Finally the truck stopped, and I slid down the chute and there I was, sitting dazed on the side of a highway, smelling that good asphalt and thinking about orange trees.
I started walking again, picked up some of my crap and started down the highway, smelling oak trees and sage, and followed that faint orange blossom scent. Ive been walking out here for some time, sleeping in shallow depressions, smelling the earth, bathing in cold streams, and eating stolen fruit, mostly avocados and oranges, coconut and bananas, and a few cupcakes.
I’ve been walking for quite a while, longer than I had thought I could, when I crested a ridge, and saw date palms and the sea. Like any dream, it’s no prisoner to logic. Here also are rosemary and mourning doves, a cool breeze and eucalyptus, roses, the Indian Ocean, and, of course, frankincense.
I’m not sure if what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, but at least it doesn’t kill you, which means you’re still alive, and can throw those dice again, stick out that thumb again, try on a new hat, or just fix up what you’ve got.