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Mirkwaller... If ever there was ever the need to rename this road, this spot on the map, that would suffice... on a day such as this. One part hillbilly, one part reclusive, one BIG part fog-shrouded. Succinct. The Powers-That-Be have seen fit to designate the weekends to be Official Crap Days, wet ones at that. Impossible to work on things mechanical, things transportational... things outdoors. And it's not even winter, yet. Those Finnish corpuscles are rebelling against the Endless Night... the oppostie side of the coin from the Midnight Sun. Ah... I'm just bitching. Before, the complaint was the complete lack of moisture. Well, that's certainly not a problem for the foreseeable future. Cheers to that. Gettin' ants in my pants, though. I've laid aside dreams of infidelity... for the most part. Simply put, I can't seem to spread my attentions too thinly. Like it or not, tolerate it or not, this grey jelly between my ears does not lie or cheat willingly. So I'm stuck. Rutted. Numbed. But looking for a break in the clouds. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. There's probably a maturity learning curve, here, that isn't making itself apparent. Fogged in, basically. Possibilities too numerous to count, obscured by dark, heavy mist. Heavy on the mind... building a house. Owning a half-decent means of four-wheeled movement. Getting the hot souce bottled. Choose one. Just one. If the weather breaks, I'll be able to do Volvo surgery with the last bit from the breakers yard... and make a decision in that direction. The priority of the moment. Thanksgiving soon approaches. Not too many pluses to show for the past twelve months... friends lost, harmony a bit dodgy on too many fronts, inspiration as fleeting as a coke high. I'll swallow some pride, next week, and spend the holiday with Miss Jane's daughter and "family" (whom I should call my stepdaughter, but the word rings hollow). A gesture, at least. Probably a silly day, with "awl th' fixin's" (a phrase you'll never hear at any time other than this... that'll soon disappear with the cranberries).
Maybe it's not just a musical thing, either. Sticker design... done. Hosannah. A decisive stride. Thank you very much. Next?
But, that's beyond, in the fog. |
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