Boiled in Lead: Day One Hundred Fifteen

531061_25882508I cannot begin.

 

 

No interest in talking about my teeth, nor my jaw that won’t relax.  No interest in talking about work, new boss rhetorically asking why she took this job as I, without guile or hesitation, watch and encourage her to slash a budget that might mean the livelihood of someone I’ve worked with for eight years.  No interest in talking about my two awkward classes I taught today where human people stared at me with no comprehension of what a computer was.  No interest in talking about my diet.  No interest in talking about my body issues.  No interest in talking about love or romance or lack thereof.  No interest in talking about politics.  No interest in talking about Burn Notice which is what I’m currently watching an inadvertent marathon of.  No interest in talking about food or hunger or things that pass my lips.  No interest in talking about things that will never come to pass.  No interest in talking about grand plans, gestures, or intent.

No interest in talking about the rain tapdancing on the skylight.   No interest in talking about the drive, the car, the uneventful nature of building a habit that eclipses old habits.   No interest in talking about Lark Rise to Candleford.  No interest in talking about house work, hot baths, or personal mythologies.  No interest in talking about personal distractions and obvious failures.  No interest in talking about the frame, the shape, the medium which is the message.  No interest in talking about walking or dancing about architecture.  No interest in talking about aging, time, loss, the infinite and the infernal.  No interest in talking about Italy or what must be done to not have  devastatingly bad time with panic attacks, no teeth, and possibly being robbed and left in a Roman ditch.   No interest in talking about writing group.  No interest in continuing it, save for this powerful sense of inertia and ego.  No interest in talking about vacations at all, stress and bother and planning that no one wants to help me with until there is no alternative.

I can talk about the one thing I’m currently interested in.  Clannad, particularly,  Teir Abhaile Riu. I had the most terrible crush on Ciaran Brennan back in what is now a thousand years ago.   He reminds me of Mumford’s Winnie, more than a bit, actually.   And it’s really all I’m interested in right now, all I want to focus on, the world I want to live in.  The place I will never be able to access or retrieve, a life that will never intersect with mine, but nonetheless brings me peace and joy.  The tin whistle.    Putting it here is more for me than for you, but maybe I have that wrong.

 

Still, I have to write, despite not being interested in doing it.  So I suppose I will take the piece, the outline of the idea of the scene and try and fill that out a bit for tomorrow night’s writing group.  Make something up, I guess.

 

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