In the summertime

I'm sweating. I can barely breath yet alone write. The sole idea of holding this mobile in my sweaty hands and touching its screen that reacts to touch with my sweaty fingers that are touching the screen makes me sweat even more. And sweating more I am. This isn’t the time or the place for writing but this time and this place is as good as any.

I'm currently situated in Zagreb, but I'm exiled from it by the Sun’s plan to melt this piece of space rock we're standing on. I'm on a train traveling south at a speed that's probably dangerous for this relic of a train. And what is south? To the south is my hometown from which I'll commute to work in Zagreb for the next few days that some lovely, smart man on TV predicted will be near Armageddon experience but without Bruce Willis dying. So, going south during this God forsaken heat wave? Well, it wouldn't be the first time I'm going in the wrong direction. But not his time, dear reader, not this time. Train ride is finally coming to an end. I feel like I’ve been traveling by a hot air balloon but I was in the hot air balloon part of the hot air balloon, and not in the basket under the, well, hot air balloon. I’m grabbing my luggage from a luggage holder above my head, watching myself in the mirror. I’ve seen prettier sights. I‘ve finally exited the train, smelled the air and am slowly walking home. If the air could smell me and speak, it would probably give me some benevolent advice considering my personal hygiene. The plan is simple. Get home, take a shower, get some six-to-eight hour sleep, wake up in the morning, in the cool refreshing morning and then take another shower. Flash forward to tomorrow. Plan followed through step by step. In the morning I’m completely fresh and pumped with enthusiasm because of the fact that in 10 hours I’ll be dipping my toes and the rest of my body in the majestic river of Mrežnica. Daydreaming begone. I grab my backpack with my super important work stuff (reading glasses, just enough money to get to work, maybe eat something and get home, a sandwich and a bottle of tap water), throw them in my (actually in my dad’s car, tometo tomato) and off I go to yet another glorious day at work. Naturally, I’m travelling via highway because I like the speed and the roar of engine that travels down the gold, ever-moving fields of crops and races the winds to be the first one that comes to someone’s ear inducing a process of electrical discharges between synapses, a kind of a mind storm in one’s brain that hurls a singular thought into someones consciences in a form of a word: ”Idiot.”. Actually, I’m late and my/dad’s car is quite silent and not really fast. Be that as it may, one can achieve some respectful temperature difference with car windows down traveling full (allowed) speed on a highway. Sure, it messes up the do but when you arrive at work, you still smell like teen spirit which smells a lot like Garnier Energy Man deodorant. Don't think that Cobain mentioned that. After eight hour labour work in front of a computer, sitting and sipping an 8° C cooled, bottled, natural spring water while the air conditioning is set to Alaska blizzard mode, I step out of the office and try to survive something completely opposite of what killed the dinosaurs. Comet free sky and raging 40+ temperatures. So, after initial expansion of, well, my body due to the increase of temperature by about 20° C and somewhere in the middle of betraying thought that it's not that bad, I stumble on my old friend, The Sweat, merely 20 steps away from the cooled interior of my office.

"Hey there Sweat. What’s up?", I asked him while I was trying to unbutton my shirt, just one life rescuing button.
"Meh. Nothing much. Couldn't reach you last eight hours. What's up with that?", said Sweat, clearly more bothered with me not contacting him than with the heat.
"Ah, you know. Bad reception.", I mumbled unclearly while opening the door of my/dad’s car.
"So where are you going now, man?", asked Sweat, looking interested.
"Home. Need a lift?", I said with a socially acceptable dose of unwillingness.
"Sure man! Thanks!",  said Sweat ecstatically.
"No problemo. Hop in.", I concluded with a little bit of Spanglish to hide my disappointment in the fact I’m not gonna travel alone.

And we are away. Old Sweat and I, on the highway, traveling across scorched land. Two men, in a pursuit of happiness. Of course, Sweat has already found his happiness in this car, which is quite an amazing car. Not only is it silent and slow and not mine, but it is also opposing the second law of thermodynamics. It's hotter in my car than it should be when all of the parameters are taken into account. I’m certain if some CERN scientist thoroughly examined this car, he would find the first proof ever of a working Perpetuum Mobile and a source of clean, safe and free energy. When I tried to explain to my teacher that my car is an exception that proves the rule, he said that his rule is going to be to make an exception when it comes to me passing his class. And he proved it. Luckily, not on my example. I came to my senses and decided that was too advance stuff for one of those old school teachers. So, here we are. Sweat and I. Look, Sweat is a great chap, don't get me wrong. Is a great person to blow off some steam. When he's with me, I can't hold anything inside. It's just pouring out of me. We’ve been driving for some time now and the conditions haven’t improved. We are discussing topics ranging from gas prices to pulsar collapses in B-type nebula's due to quasar bursts of gamma type radiation and antimatter. You know, typical male stuff. We finally arrive to Duga Resa, that marble of human civilization and a crown jewel of modern architecture. To make things even more impressive, Duga Resa lies on the most beautiful Croatian river, Mrežnica. After quick lunch, I slip into swimming shorts, grab my beach towel, sit on my bicycle and pedal away. Of course, driving a bicycle on 40°C isn’t the brightest idea. The flesh is weak but the spirit is willing. At least I’m not alone, Sweat is right here with me. The promise of refreshment compels me to pedal even harder. Light breeze surprises me not only with its sole existence but also with the sounds it brings to me. I can hear people laughing, water splashing, children crying... I can see how every ancient civilization sprouted out in a vicinity of some large river. After locking my bicycle, assuming one of the rare empty places on the meadow near Mrežnica and putting my towel to mark my spot, finally I come to the bank of the river and look into its depths just before my jump. I ask Sweat whether he is going for a swim also. Silly me, I forgot. He doesn't know how to swim.  And then I jump...

Everything happens in slow motion. Water slowly engulfs me, washing everything off. Psychical pressure is lifted off and it stays behind on the surface of the water like oil, along with all of the problems. They can’t get to me while I’m down here. Some people raise above problems, some go under them willingly and some just sink under the weight of the world and get crushed. Everything seems simple down here. Just hold your breath and swim. Swim far away from the worries. Sun tries to reveal the secrets the river so jealously holds in its depths. Some of those, superficial ones, light reveals without much trouble, but the ones in the depths, the heavy ones, the important ones are much harder to discover. The thing with going under problems is you can’t hold your breath for long and eventually you will have to come out to the surface. And so I do. The first thing that’s back are the sounds. The laughing, the splashing, the crying... I wait a moment while my vision gets clear. I look around me and see Sweat along with the Real World happily waving from the bank, eager for me to return. Sooner or later I will have to get back.