No More Numbers: Day Two Hundred Seventy-Three

What’s on my mind, WordPress?  1371761_27213366ot much, actually.  I’ve done my damndest to just not have anything on the workbench in the fevered bellows of my brain today.   I am not despairing, just…coming to terms with a lot.  The fact that the kind gent from yesterday was just that and I, in all my foibles and best intentions, have no reason to pursue it further even if I knew how or when or where or why (aside from the persistent hum of my libido).  Looks are a dime a dozen for most and just because I find them precious doesn’t mean that anyone else would pay for the favor of mine.  I have not wanted to stew on this and so I actually, if you care to believe it, have not thought about it at all until right now when I turned off the games and wanted to be sure I hadn’t missed my deadline.

It’s worth ink, or pixels, and a curling up of the outside of my lips, but his long-term, eventually permanent absence will mean he will soon become as gilded as all the rest.  Love is a thing behind you, sepia-colored and curling up at its edges as well.  There is, in my experience, no present tense in it.

I’ve also been avoiding the fact that tomorrow I do not work – and really, I should only put in the four hours I’m to be paid for, but I have something like 20 days left, 20 or twenty-three days, and although that may not be the clean break I’m really desiring, it’s a hell of a short time to cram all the good girl stipulations into so that I can hand off the mess of my position to someone enrobed in wax paper and tied with a blue ribbon.  I don’t go into the office, but I should work excessively while here especially since I took today and went into my own personal quiet lands.

A few things were done, a good portion of the laundry was hauled over and washed and I’ve made a sizeable giveaway pile because the crux of the mess really is the absence of storage for a lot of really weird conglomerations of thread and faded cotton.  Finding things I love rather than what I ought to fit or love or take care of because someone gave it to me thinking I would look better in it than I did.  My other aunt, another of mother’s sisters, gave me 50 euros to add to my stack.  We took a walk and she is sharp as the sharpest whip you have with a memory that is hard to believe if you aren’t related and have a similar one.  I ate poorly, I listened to my father as he showed me the oldest stamp he had in his collection, I played and will play a game that takes away all thought and worry.  I am counting on some sort of logic to kick in in the morning because time is running out!

Roman Holiday

Decadence is not all it’s cracked up to be.

By no major application of my will, I have not done anything of import today whatsoever.   I have spent a great portion of it in bed, listening to Answer Me This, playing Civilization V and Words with Friends and watching Dylan Moran standup and the plan that I had last night of getting up and sparkling the cleaning progress that we got done yesterday went completely by the wayside.

The gray day just passed entirely without incident.  Makes me feel very sad, actually.  The weekend did have the humor/social aspect since yesterday I enjoyed the hell out of watching Shaun of the Dead (which lead entirely to today’s sort of Black Books/Bernard Black/Dylan Moran freak out) and cleaning got done, since I shredded old credit card applications and random bullshit that’s been saved in a plastic bag and shifted it around since 2002.  I mean, bags and bags-full.   I did that, at least, anyway.  I think it sort of took everything out of me.  As for the creativity track, I’ve been thinking about writing something.  That doesn’t count at all despite how many of us hack writers think that it does.  You do actually have to put fingertips to keyboard and dream your little dreamy dreams.   In terms of anything else creative, nothing really that counts got done this weekend.  Not as of yet, anyway.  There are still  few hours left.

Maybe I’ll just commit to painting my nails.  Personal creativity is still creativity.  It’s something.   I’m going to have to do my best to see if I can’t work these priorities more firmly into my weekly life and not just on Saturday and Sunday.

Food and exercise is just me being a lazy bint.  Seriously lazy, almost painfully so.  I have to restart the Wii challenge since I think having to face all those missed workouts, provided I can fix the wristbands.  Hopefully, it was just a matter of them not being read properly and they aren’t broken.  I certainly haven’t done anything to make them break from being overtaxed.   No broken record, false promises, it’s up to me to do it and report when I do.

I think I’ve got to sort out a bit more dinner since I tried to have some yogurt and gagged on it.   I’m in a weird brainspace and I’d like to just carry on with myself instead of getting bogged down in it and deciding the rest of my life based on the weird and fetid ideas that rise to the surface when you spend a whole day (or near abouts) in bed is not what I’d like to do.

Next week is my delightful chance to just work at work.  No fire hydrants opened on my face full of papers to file and checks to write and emails to “blast.”  I don’t have to put on a fancy show and I can take a breath when I need to take a breath.  That’s what I want.

Five hundred words, done and done.

Andromeda, Perseus, and the Sea Monster

I’ve been so distracted by media and the trappings of the modern world today that I looked up at the clock and almost was sick by the time.  It seemed to come very close today that I might not have posted and that just wouldn’t do, ladies and gents, not when we’re on the second year of this.  It would be an enormous letdown to have the day where I miss a post not be a day where I’ve been skydiving or falling in love with some tall, dark, and handsome cliche or becoming poet laureate.  It would be pretty lame to have it just be me not being on the ball.

So, I’ve settled the noises and the lights and I’ve opened the laptop and the little window into your world emerges, a bit greased and smog-rimmed, but there, nonetheless.  You and I are bound together by this quicksilver tether so thin as to seem invisible and when we take a breath and let all of the chaos that is a human life dissipate into the dusky, rainswept remains of a day, we connect.  For a brief time, while we concentrate and relax our muscles, warm our extremities, let sensation win over analysis, we are in one room and we are saying all that there is to say.

The sister is working an overnight shift, so the usual light is off, the usual feeling of not being alone with yourself is off, my shoulders are well and truly greeting my earlobes until I recognize the hunching and force them back down.  I did not exercise or eat particularly well today, thinking it was going to be another day of spelunking the bowels of the retail earth about here and we didn’t end up doing that.  So meals happened awkwardly and not with intention and time frittered away from me.  I played games and stared in the middle distances and took a long, luxurious bath without a book because I didn’t even want the bother of having to hold it open.  I was ridiculously, extravagantly, and wholly a creature of whim. 

Which is nice work if you can get it.

But they don’t employ you there for long before you’re back out on the streets.  I didn’t exercise today and that’s pretty frustrating since I genuinely like it.  Genuinely, not just saying that because it makes me sound like a better person than I actually am.  But it’s 10:52 now and I don’t see the sense in racing around on the bike.  I did try and get a walking game at the game store, but apparently it’s about 2 years too old to be available at a store, so I’ll probably order it right now and it’ll make me feel far less guilty.

If I seem to be talking in a somewhat verbose manner, it’s just the language rubbing off from watching Downton Abbey with my friends upon whom I am now afflicting all my British television passions and they are afflicting right back.

Love is admiring the passion in another while possibly being unmoved by the source of their passion.  When that source takes hold of you, too, well, then…how can you ever be parted?