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Rebound. Overnight, for no apparent reason, that unwelcome weight in the chest and spirit took a leave of absence. Sun, dimly leaking in through the blinds and curtains insinuated a surreptitious wake up call. No telltale chill in the bedroom air, no incessant furnace wheezing... it was going to be an OK day. For me, I suppose. Several cups of coffee, and breakfast, atypically, put some fire in the belly to shake off the doldrums of yesterday. An extra bit of fuel in the mix... daring jailbreak by the Speckled Beast, which set Miss Jane into a hysterical tirade. I understand tirades... I've pitched a few myself. Usually when there's unbearable pressure. I decided to apply some feline psychology, and located, lulled into mistake, and eventually treed the hussy. I don't think she expected that I could climb, too. Negative waves in the house made being outside, or away, a more pleasant prospect... sometimes you gotta let the hysteria work itself out. I don't recall anyone else donating their afternoon to appeasing me. Remembering that it's too early Spring for poison ivy or ticks to be in quantity (yet), I headed for the woods... clearing what will be the driveway entrance. Sporting a fresh crop of scratches from the brambles, and perfumed with two-stroke exhaust, I returned with just enough daylight to turn some wrenches. Two oil changes, belt adjusting, and new plugs for the Miata, before the gloom brought the festivities to a halt. More or less. Discovered the shop maunal, under the seat, swollen twice its size and weight... from some leak in the soft top during the storm. Another project. The last few fastenings and cleanup were done with the flashlight jammed into my armpit as daylight expired. Calm, returned. And a transcendant musical experience at the last of Six Feet Under. As much as music affects me, opera is usually my target for special ridiculing. Until the first time I heard "Nessun Dorma." Maybe I'm not totally uncultured, after all. This piece, as well as the "Pas de Deux" from The Sleeping Beauty, are simply overwhelming. Raises the big knot in the throat, stifles the breath. Puccini and Tschaikovksy rock, too. But, I'm still getting that Iggy remix. It's all the stuff of raw emotion. I think I'll rebound tomorrow, too. Like, by blowing off work. The thought of numbing my ass for twelve hours on a sunny day makes the weight come back. I prefer a bit more weightlessness. |
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