“It’s not you – it’s not peeling an onion – but some
similarity. I can’t make myself more clear.”
- Willem
Without the second-order effects of my stress to bother him, Willem is very funny when he’s relaxed. He quips jokes and lopes around on
his long legs with a shit-eating grin. His version of problem solving is a lot
like my dad’s. For example: he wanted to bring the whole loaf of bread with us
today, along with a six-inch bread knife. This rather than pre-slicing the
bread before we left the house.
We are hot during the days and Willam skirts the border
between well and fucked-up. We’ve learned that he can stay cooler when he dunks
his shirt in water. Usually a public fountain. He prefers this to a bathroom
sink or water bottle. He is incapable of feeling embarrassed about anything.
And everything is negotiable. So he takes off his shirt, wanders to a public
fountain and dunks the whole thing. It drips and squelches as he puts it back
on (he doesn’t wring it out first). Yesterday, there was the necessary
shirt-dunking in the Royal courtyard of Alcazar and he was scolded by one of
the security personnel. But his response to authoritarian reprobation is so
good natured and friendly, the security folks can’t stay angry at him.
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