Over a Fortnight

I've been attacked by music. I turned on ye old itunes while I cleaned my house today, and organized for four hours. So my playlist cycled through stuff I didn't even know I had, and I danced while putting books on the shelves. Then I sang sorting laundry. Then I had to buy another media shelf for all the albums I now need to pick up.

I don't know where all this music came from. The domestic other must have snuck them on while I wasn't looking. And since I'm the sort of person that feels strongly about paying artists for the work they do, now I have to budget for scads of new discs. Including ones that I used to own, but are now only on visitation.

I think I would willingly eat, sleep, and sit on the floor as long as I could keep my reading and listening habits fed.

~

The wadded wrapping paper hit Mom's butt on the way out the door. She returned an aggravated laugh that bounded down the hall. Really, the world turned upside down whenever Mom came to visit. Ann flopped over and looked at the book. She wasn't going to write, she was not. The carpet fibers itched her cheek. The book had lumped onto its face when she'd grabbed the paper. The scattering of cherry blossoms down the front hid against the rug, leaving a sober black back a few inches from her nose. At this distance she could see mulberry fibers in the paper. Their silky sheen drew her hand to touch it once more.

"Cripes." Ann yanked her hand back. All her breath went out in a huff, and she slung the book onto a shelf. It was already more than full; the sudden addition cascaded wobbling heaps to clunk on the floor. One dark corner peeked from under the bodies of its companions. Ann grabbed her purse and scrabbled for the door. Dodging the remains of giggles, she skimmed out the door to the restaurant.