A Lesson in Living.
'Concern for Man and his fate must always form the chief interest of all technical endeavours.
Never foget this in the midst of your diagrams and equations.'
- Albert Einstein.
Come morning, I had thrown myself into quite the panic; my mind had been lingering in some dreary, wandering state as it often can on the borders of sleep but instead of seeking out peace, the state of being drew me to a rather unpleasant realisation. Perhaps it would seem mediocre to others but it must be understood that I pride myself on my organisation – and I had forgotten my father's wine. I was supposed to be picking up a few bottles of Romané-Conti, as well as the cheaper La Tâche and Echézeaux, all, of course, produced in the Domaine de la Romanée-Conti. They were for a business party he was hosting at the weekend. How exactly I had forgotten, I'm not quite sure but I was strongly inclined to think it had something to do with that damned hospital.
In my flustered and appalled state, I tripped out of bed and grabbed at my clothes as if they were my only salvation while everything else, my mood in particular, sank. I mentally dismissed the idea of using public transport, unwilling to spend the morning with others now I was in a foul mood from insufficient sleep (I didn't trust myself not to shame the family name) and weighed down under the irrational impression that I was very short on time and could not afford to put my faith in others. In reality, time was not a concern – but disorganisation has that effect on me. I struggled into my suit and fled downstairs, only allowing myself any semblance of relaxation and reassurance once I was steadily on my way down the A6, in my little rented car heading straight towards Burgundy, where the estate I wanted to purchase from was based. Only then did I actually allow myself to check the time. It was still dark so I knew it could be any time up until around 9am. Damn winters. I squinted as the little glowing red lines that spelled the time out to me from the dashboard. 05:05. I nearly crashed the car then in my despair – that would've been on purpose of course.
However, as it stood... well... if you have ever seen the Boulevard Périphérique from overhead, you'll know that it looks like a little tangle of nerves or veins. Frankly speaking, it's an ugly mess that somewhat resembles a man-made tumour. Awful thing. It was this that I was reflecting on as I drove onto the bridge that runs out over the black waters which would otherwise cut me off from my destination. Due primarily, I suppose, to this mixture of my own preoccupation with the boulevard's aesthetics and my tired, lacklustre state, rather than choosing to crash that flimsy little rented car, I didn't even have time to acknowledge the car that crashed directly into mine.