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Every night at this time, when I sit down to the keyboard, something metal pops on the back porch... releasing the tension built up from the heat and cooling of the day. An old house settling. It's expected, after a while... the old structure communicating as the night deepens. I'm way past the point where I should have already built or owned a house of my own. Mostly, never knowing where I really wanted to make that stand has been the clincher. For whatever reason, I've always expected the place to be on the mountain. Drawn and Repelled. Seeing how Slick Willie's making sunlight appear beneath the canopy reminds me of what I should already have done. Conformity in the undergrowth. Some sense of how the earth lies under the tangle. It'll be a busy time for me, when the leaves begin to fall. A nagging voice keeps asking if the effort is worth the outcome. No resistance from family, for once... unless you count the woman who wears my ring. I cannot even begin to imagine where her attention is focused... and she will admit, when asked, "nowhere." Words fail... words are not used. Much. And I'm losing my desire to bridge the gap. The most she has spoken on any subject came this evening, when going into detail about her daughter's current Marital Thing. I listen, but refuse to judge the situation... I will not be judge of anyone or anything, especially love, or lack of it, or who-did-what-to-who. If you don't live with it for every minute, know all sides and circumstances... there is no right to judge. They've got problems... she thinks she will affect the outcome. And she's got one to deal with right at home. This is the atmosphere surrounding her week with them at the beach. Hell waiting to break loose. Not my idea of a dream vacation. Unless you're L*z Taylor and R*chard Burton. Or someone who thrives on Hissy Fits, Shattering Glassware and the flashbulbs of the paparazzi during the Public Cursing Scene. I'd rather drink muddy water, and sleep in a holler log. Hah... caught myself. I was about to go into another lengthy bitch session. Which I have deleted into the ether. The main thing I miss, if understanding is unattainable, is the human touch. I'm forgetting the feeling. Not sure how to get it back. And if it's not here, the rest is bullshit. House building, included. I sweat in the fields for awhile, in the afternoon... fruits beginning to bear firey red and chrome yellow. The freezer'll soon be full. The cycle continues. There is still no plan for this upcoming week of separation. Like most of my road trip days, it'll probably be whichever way the wind pushes me. Once the bath is reassembled, that is. Dream vacation. So that muffled metallic pop in the back room is a great metaphor for me. Whatever it was, amongst the potential energy that is the tools, the British car parts, the airbrush equipment, it'll bend the same way, tomorrow. In the same place. Pop back into shape at the same time. Only, I'll be away. To the other life. The old structure communicates. |
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