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Breakthrough. Tired of waiting for the rain that never came, I crowbarred my lethargic ass from the futon before being sucked into another thrice rerun soccer match. Sunday has this inertia when it's grey... sapping all inventive thought and ambition, adding fifty extra pounds to my ass, allowing the siren song of the television to dull the senses. Time to swing a machete in the woods, and hack some order from the wall o' green. Perhaps I needed the single-mindedness of blade-vegetation-silence. Whatever. Earlier in the day, I'd called Ilsa, She-Wolf of the SS, ostensibly as a progress report on the remodeling... and in much nicer words, told her to get off her ass and buy her own silly excuses for interior design. They're wealthy and retired, after all (they bought this house for their daughter that didn't want it). Regardless of the motivations, by the time it was too dark to be wearing shades in the forest primeval, I'd carved a path suitable for walking from the entry of the right-of-way all the way to the home site. A boundary cleared. No more of that Lost In The Amazon feeling... I swear, if you carried a compass back there, it'd go 'round in circles in confusion. No More. Stupid coincidence of the day: walking back down to the car, I passed the sleeping remains of that Ford truck that gave me so many thrills, a while back. An ex-hippie transport, festooned with dedhead stickers... and a yellow diamond with a stick figure in a crosswalk--with an oval at the waist (I'm assuming hula hoop). Got back home at dark, Miss Jane a-huffing with dinner in her lap, as Six Feet Under came on. Conversation over (never started, really). Followed by the Coen Bros. "Hudsucker Proxy." Another flash 50's period piece... about a guy that invented--the hula hoop (cue Sci-Fi theremin sound effects). I see no reason for this. Monday... off! |
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