Saddle, seat post, handlebars, brakes, brake cables, inner tubes, spokes, tyres, wheels, chain, pedals …. As will be readily apparent to regular followers of this blog, a bike mechanic I am not. I sit on the saddle, my feet find the pedals and the wheels turn – I am on my way.
Over the past few months, however, something I could not name has beeeen going wrong. Regularly. About every 3 miles or so. Nick, the guy at the bike shop, told me what the part was called when I went in to have it fixed a while back. I quickly forgot the name of the part that was the problem. It was fixed, right? Who needs to remember a detail like that?
Fixed it was not. After a while – a few weeks – maybe a couple of months – the same thing started happening again.
Now, by this time I figure you are wondering what the name of the part that keeps going wrong is called, so I looked it up. The front dropouts are the culprits. They keep coming out of the plastic holder type things that keep them in place on the front wheel. I keep checking that they are snug by pushing them back in to their plastic holders, and they try to wiggle out every time I go anywhere.
This has never happened with my previous bikes. I popped into the bike shop a few days ago for some chain cleaning foam spray and asked Nick why it keeps happening. He offered to glue the front dropouts in place when I can book a slot to bring the bike in. So, I’ll do that. Eventually.
Eventually. Not right now. (Too much pressure). I’ll get round to it. (Can you go away now, please?). There are so many other things I have to do. (For other people who don’t understand.) Please can someone else help me out with this please? I can’t ask. Not again. (Read my mind, divine my inner most inertia and stale hopes, and help me).
There are so many eventuallies in my depression. There is so much that will happen – soon. One day. Next week or month or year. My responsibilities are many, like unread books lining the shelves that surround me. I run my fingers across their uncracked spines, their eager titles of hope, despair, longing and lethargy. Will somebody please take away these responsibilities I hoard day by motionless day? Box them up, label them and stack them far away from sight. Like that I can merely remember them, rather than slice open the tape that binds them closed, and stare at them with dread, with longing.
One monotonous day is followed
by another monotonous, identical day. The same
things will happen, they will happen again –
the same moments find us and leave us.
A month passes and ushers in another month.
One easily guesses the coming events;
they are the boring ones of yesterday.
And tomorrow looks nothing like tomorrow.
C.P. Cavafy (1863 – 1933)