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A blank white space, and a blinking cursor... I've been avoiding this for more than a few days. The longer you wait in the telling, the more difficult it becomes. No, the world doesn't come to an end in this, but the atmosphere has changed ever so subtly. Maybe becuse Christmas has come and gone... though it hasn't really. In fact, it seems as if it has just extended past the one day. There remains more people to see, greetings to exchange, material remembrances to share. And time. Watching my stepdaughter's children on the Day was a good thing... I vaguely recall going totally apeshit, back in the day. But it was and is OK. Seeing how much they've changed in the past months is a revelation... and at times makes me wonder about the unconscioous decisions to not have children of my own. This is something Miss Jane possesses that I will never know. Certainly not with her, now. I suppose I'm still too much of a child, myself. Still. Damn... let a few days go by, and it's all philosophical and shit. Boxing Day became brain cell detonation day. Stoli and tonics, an Old Speckled Hen, topped with a couple of Guinnesses leave me recalling little of what went on, or what passed though my lips. There was Clash music, well dressed people, James Bond on the monitor and a warm feeling. Plus, an Arsenal victory in the wee hours. And, surprisingly enough, no rip-snorting hangover to pay for it with. I'm looking forward for the routine to return, though... a lot of personal responsibilities have been on the back burner, and much to accomplish. The drawing table, the woods, the engine bays are all calling for attention. This has been a nice vacation... even having the opportunity to go to the cinema to see the kid with the lightning-bolt scar was a diversion. A crowded, but silent theater was a bizarre experience. A collection of mute souls. Interesting metaphor for the blank page. Potential without expression. |
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