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i still haven't put away my sandals or my shorts. wishful thinking, or a lost cause? like the leaden apron they throw across you before they turn on the x-ray machine, the cold, hard truth of the season in upon us. cold... the all day-all night kind. the appearance of the sun, just a flirt... like a flash of thigh peeking from a slit in the skirt before the car door shuts. i've been trying to find reasons to stay optimistic, even in the face of marital deterioration... doing my best to cope with the never-ending night thing since October... the no-bare feet/frozen toes scenario... starting to feel confined in the clothes, either from all of the snacks to stay warm, or the multi-layers to keep the cold out. yeah, i bitch here, a lot... but i, too, need reasons to keep on keeping on. Today deals a severe blow to that little bubble of hope, in the sepulchral voice of the weather forecast: WinterStormWarning. gawd, i hate those words. like a sentence of solitary confinement... even though i won't be alone, physically. well, at least the cat and i can get along without sniping at one another. getting this close to the holidays, it'll make things interesting. Yoko is supposed to spend yet another weekend with her daughter, or so she plans. the irony of this, from what i gather from my last afternoon of partying: i am no longer trusted alone. interesting. no sex of any kind for months. no dalliance with another female since we've been together over the past ten years. bills paid. house warm. peace, relative. i spend two evenings at a friend's house, stationary, not on the highway, conversing and getting a little high... and i'm no longer trusted. wow. it doesn't take much to transgress these days. these, but a few things that she confides in her therapist about my ill treatment of her, so i'm told. and i'm supposed to do... what... when she's away? sit alone. do chores. talk to no one. it looks so pansy-assed to see this is writing. perhaps trying to make the best of a bad situation is pansy-assed, leave it to me. patron saint of lost causes. OK. enough. time for a fun/sarcastic thing. there's a lot of folk i know/am related to that are superstitious about forecasts... a lot of these same people are slaves to expensive coffee and barriastas. for them, i suggest the OracleOfStarbucks. gird your ego... it's bumpy. |
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