Warnings in December 2010

Where exactly does high blood pressure come from? That is my question of the month. Yes, you guessed it right. I’ve got blood pressure so high that even the slightest bit of the unknown causes me to shake. Especially at the end of the month when I’m trying to write this piece. How come I can’t get these few five hundred words onto the page is beyond me, but they do put pressure on me nevertheless. You see I was sitting at the bar, which has absolutely no connection to my high blood pressure I can assure you, and I just finished reading “Mr. Nice” by Howard Marks when this guy comes in, sees the book and tells me that he knows the guy. How much of a coincidence could that be? Then another person walks into the bar, and says that if I liked that book I would love another book called “Shantaram”. So after rereading the first chapter of “Mr. Nice”, I sometimes do that when I don’t want a book to end, I went upstairs to look into a bag of books that a friend had given me to find something new. Low and behold, the first book on top of the bag was “Shantaram”. I picked up the heavy monster knowing that I had at least a few days of reading ahead of me. This is where the pressure comes into the picture. I was tearing through my new book with avengence when I realised how much more colorful this guys tales were than mine. I started to shake so much that I couldn’t pick up a shot glass, so of course I ordered another bottle of beer. My father in law who is nearly twice my age shakes less than I was shaking, and he’s almost seventy years old. And he’s had high blood pressure for years of eating pig lard with his meals.

How was I not able to get a single word onto the computer when this guy could write a book over eight hunderd pages long? The pressure was mounting. Knowing very well that I am even more unable to write when I drink, I ordered another one just to get the shakes out of me. I could do this piece another day. But there weren’t many days left. And why exactly was my blood pressure so high anyway? Hadn’t I stopped becoming angry at all of those taxi drivers? I ceased becoming upset at all of those cars hoking outside of my apartment flat now didn’t I. It couldn’t be that I smoke two packs a day now could it be. It couldn’t be that I’ve gained close to 25 kilos in the past two years now could it be. It could only be that I had to write these damned five hundred words with a bit of honesty and integrity, and that was giving me the shakes. Oh and before I forget, have a great holiday. There you go, my five hundred words all done. Cheers!

By Tim Hoerle