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Good thing my imagination, and a good deal of my memory is intact. That's all that remains of the sunny, warm used to be. Like, twenty-four hours ago. Not exactly a rude awakening, but obnoxious, nonetheless. Cold, hard light lasering in from behind the blinds, by neck bent at a crazy angle from new pillows, and the cat draped across my head like a living beret... bade welcome to Monday. I ain't wild about no Monday. Dragging ass on the computer, as usual, I managed to type up and email Friday's playlist to the appropriate record companies... a first in months,... and got the word out to Mr. Sound about the ska band that is sniffing out a venue. A few last minute accomplishments in the can, before the mad dash to get cleaned up, packed up and on the road before noon. One small omission... being focused on the underpinnings of the Swede during the week, I hadn't noticed that the inspection sticker had expired in the middle of the last blizzard. Until I was ten miles away from home. I guess I'll be travelling on the QT until Thursday... hiding in plain sight, doing nothing outrageous or fancy or obvious. Really, not such an insurmountable task, considering how station wagons tend to fade into the background. And the fact that I'd driven in C'Ville, and to the landfill (past the sheriff's office). Stay with me, Lady Luck. I occurred to me that I hadn't spoken to another human being in five hours. Strange, to hear words come out of my mouth, after all that time... and get a reply. I preferred to keep it that way, considering a conversation with a county cop unnecessary. Into the digital abyss.... A rare call from Miss Jane, this evening. I suppose she must have talked with her daughter at some point, since she asked if I'd thought about renting a house in the summer with her family. This, after we'd looked into an extended weekend in the next month or so... and all my talk about passports, and a trip to England. How quickly she forgets, where her "child" is concerned. Sure, I can swing three vacations in five months. As if. God, I'd hate to relive last summer... paying for her stay at the ocean, while I stay at home, myself. Bullshit. It's a major bore, being the realist all of the time. And the Keeper Of The Purse. My imagination prods me to less familiar places, untrod paths... new experience. Places where memories are made, not retreaded. |
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