AGAINST THE FLOW OF TRAFFIC – ACTON28.BLOG

The platinum Latin phrase of last week has to be, id est quod id est. Translation: it is what it is.

After an icy walk with the dogs, returning back for an episode of Brassic, and feet up, I noticed something missing. The black and white purr-box that has been cowering from the cold indoors almost every day, like a barometer, had not bugged me for a fuss. Between Panda GunDOGan, my Dad’s kangeroo-bollock-yapping-dog Blue and Sky the cat, my arms often get enough stroking exercises on a sofa.

Then I heard it. The faintest of faint meowing. I went upstairs, following the sound, zooming in on behind my bedroom door. For the first time, Sky had been locked in my room, signifying she’d snuck in after my shower. Unnoticed, sly Sky had spent several hours there. She wanted out. I opened the door. The door refused.

The door, flimsy at best, held firm. Its paneled front buckled slightly. The toughness of the bottom of the door scraping on carpet made me shudder. Sky had ripped the carpet up. And the underlay. And for good measure, the tacking that holds the carpet down. And the waterproof membrane off the back of the carpet. The door shifted a few centimetres. It was going nowhere fast.

Sky, sensing my frustration, upped her meowing game. Ear-piercing desperation, likely detectable on Mars as a signal of pleas for help. Then, the kind of constant whining only an upset can can muster. I computed my options. I had to push the door hard and fast past the fold. I’d damage the carpet, which I assumed was already a state.

I shoved, and Sky shot out a gap wide enough for a cat, yet too narrow for my 40-inch waistline and barrelled-chest. The door declined to open further. In a heat of rage, I shoved it, full shoulder. Newton’s second law. All 120kg of mass multiplied by acceleration. Full force.

The door shifted. I squeezed through a newer wider gap. The door’s hinges ached and screeched. I kicked the door shut and looked down at the damaged carpet and underlay. Fixable. Just. I tucked it in and noted it was not holding any longer. A repair for the future.

I went to open the door. The door held. It was jammed again. I was inside and wanted to be outside. My phone was ringing downstairs. A birthday video call for someone special. I tugged harder. Nothing. I applied more force. Off popped the door handle. An inconvenience. I yanked at the coat holders mounted on the door. They tore away. More than an inconvenience.

Panicking, I gripped the thin panel on the back of the door. It shifted slowly. Steadily, I exited the door. Later on, I tapped the carpet into a safer place. 

On reflection, id est quod id est, is a phrase that clearly signifies nothing can be done about a previous situation. It is what it is. How about the future? Unwritten? Let’s see.