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Finally. A paycheck. And there was much rejoicing... primarily among the people to whom i owe money. An overstatement typical of what i usually set down on this page, but it has been one tight muthafucka for the past seven days. Miraculously, i've kept the same lonely five dollar bill in my wallet for the past four days. Not an exaggeration. Ramen, my good culinary friend, got me through the workweek... the only real progress i seem to have made over the long-gone macaroni-and-cheese doldrums past. The price-per-servng is about the same, though. Perhaps this has been penance for my days of wretched excess... with any luck (which i accept with open arms, wholeheartedly), maybe this darkness has passed. One can dream. This whole dreary scenario has been staged in an atmosphere so much like a Pacific northwest spring, i have to lookout the window occasionally to make sure i haven't been teleported to a land of lodgepole pines. Nope... there's still hilbilly racing stickers all over everything. Confederate logos, monster trucks, bling-bling H0ndas, nosy yahoos...they're all still here. So is the close grey sky-quilt of rainclouds which is a dialy prop. Especially today... when did finally leave the house for a brief blast to town, a black, vaporous mass crept in the direction of home. Rushing back to shut off the computer and windows, the hiss of rain immediately returned and lingered for over an hour. Just here. Two miles away, no sign of moisture. Uncanny. Another tipoff that i haven't escaped the incarceration... the hills are alive with the sound of... insects. Maybe i have been taking the season for granted, until having to spend so much time at home... but as summer speeds along at breakneck pace, the bugs just get louder as the days go by. Fireflies to mosquitos to katydids to crickets. Were it not for the low white-noise drone of the fans, it would sound like a castanet convention when standing on the darkened front porch. It's like all of the souls that ever were came back with six legs and a song to sing. At least they show signs of life. In abundance. I hear a comment from Miss Jane which still is bouncing around in my skull... about how she considers any intrusion into our little bubble to be an invasion of our "sanctuary." I know what she meant, since i retreat into the isolation from time-to-time (my antidote to the neverending three-day madness), but it just sounded so... bleak... to hear it said out loud. It's time to bring this tale of magnified insignificance to a close... my joints are all twanging to the beat of a sadisitc drum. My hands, especially. They ache, probably, from the absence of real work. Or desire. Today. |
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