Falling off the Ball

The other day at work I was so tired that I almost fell asleep on top of my yoga ball. Luckily I startled awake before I fell off. Well. Before I fell off more than a little bit. At least I didn't fall over in a great THUMP, like a did at Halloween. My wooden sword fell on top of me too. It really wasn't an auspicious day. Which reminds me: next year I want to celebrate another Halloween on the last day of April. All those people who do that "Christmas in July" have not seen anything yet!

~

It's hot in the laundromat. I can't help it; the tumbling, spinning frenzy spreading energy to the four corners. Outside at three it was 109, but inside at nine it feels hardly less than 103. I'm wilting faster than the clothes. It's only June. Mentally I review every law, every code that forces even a stitch more on. It's all tied up.

No wonder I'm spending so much time here. I have only to walk out the door for sweat to be standing on my skin. My pants could stand by themselves~they're so fortified with trace minerals.

~

This is not working. I put it off too late, and I slid off the ball and almost fell asleep. Dang it; I wish shift change would hurry up and come, because I'm going nuts. Although it's really more like being comatose, energywise. I hate it when I get like this.

Inertia and Snack Pack Pudding

I really, really do not want to write tonight. I don't want to do anything, as a matter of fact. I don't want to clean, cook, draw, read, or even sleep. That doesn't leave a whole lot left to do. I've even run out of Snack Pack, which is the the ultimate palliative for ennui. I should go to sleep before the emo aura runs amok. Unfortunately I'm not that smart.

~

A chuff of paper
cuts through the spring
of office conversation.

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.

Late Night Haze

At this time of night, I get to the really deep questions. Like, Why is Jones soda so good? When will my cat stop nagging me? Where do old B movies go when it rains?

It occurs to me now that blogging is a very dangerous thing. I shall write a pittance and go to sleep.

~

The note book was new, but it had come a little shabby. You could see that a lot of people had picked it up and almost bought it. Ann picked it up too. It looked hand made. She flipped it over and saw the bar code. Perhaps the materials had faked her out. She opened the cover. The paper looked hand made and probably wasn't either. If the world was just, or even just exciting, when opened it she should have been sucked into another world.

If it could merely make her words and sketches float off the page to life, that would also be acceptable. Ann rubbed the black spine thoughtfully. The nubby texture of the paper felt good. She placed the book on the wrapping paper in a careful bump. "Thanks Mom."

Mom had a smile creeping out. Ann eyed her with reservations. "Thinking about laughing?"

"Oh, no. You seem underwhelmed with your present."

"Of course not. I'm just whelmed. Nothing under about it."

"...Just?"

Ann hesitated. "Well. It's just empty."

Mom reached out and tousled her head on the way through the door. "There speaks a girl who was buried in an avalanche of library books this summer." The maternal glance delivered sermon and homily in a three second look. "It's your book; you fill it."

Excess of Verbiage

Arch gave me a wonderful compliment the other day about my use of words. She also snorted at me. I consider the second a much higher accolade. I do absolutely adore words. They're more essential than oxygen and better than chocolate. (Heresy!) But I wish I had something to SAY.

What good is it to have skill with words if all you emit are amiable nothings? My core is better buffered than the strictest nuclear reactor. Wonderful for getting along peacefully with family, spouse and coworkers. Also results in tepid prose. I need to find a way past that, but am at a standstill.

~

Newly narcotic
these cold
sweet cherries
bleed on
my tongue
their dark
purple gush
hides the
taste of
my tears
I can't
stop a
salty leak
of anger
too thin
to burn
fiery ire
why don't
you want
me any
more?

My Girl Friday

It's my Friday! I suppose I could cry if I wanted to, but life's too short. The ups man came while I was working today. He left my SSBB game in the caretaking of the complex's office. I shall perform recon tomorrow, on my Saturday-Thursday. I shall get it back! It's a good thing that time is illusionary, because shift work is destroying my understanding of it.

~

I've done it again. In a flash
tumbled in a booth and changed
into My Girl Friday. Defender of
the tasks of martyrdom and helpfulness.
A superpower of Can't say No!
Trouble is, they've skimped on
public service these days of late.
Not even lycra covers enough ass
in this half shelter. Gone are the
closed doors for quiet calls. I've got
everything hanging out. A passing
boy looks up being towed by his mom.
He's perplexed by my frantic notions. Excuse me,
my butt has fallen and can't get up.

Reversion Aversion

I seem to be going backward of late. It's very disconcerting. I don't know why they call it two steps forward, one step back. It's more like freeze tag on a moving sidewalk. A tango on the escalator. I vacillate between what I was and what I'm becoming, and the frequency is way too high.

This means that by all means I must buy Rock Band this weekend. And a camera. The combination is sure to prove frightening.

~

It's a good time to be alive. At what other end of any century have they walked with gods like we do; where Adam's finger rests on Enter. Any day you can step into heaven and youtube. Perhaps not the lord of all you survey, but remaking each piece in your image. Yesterday I bounced with penguins. Today I sweat with polar bears. Animated, I step along the memewalk of life. You can't really call it the boredwalk any more.

Walking by the chats you hear strange noises. I'd go in, but it's a whole new realm of don't ask don't tell. Dipping through one a minute scars me for life. I'll build my own room instead. Populated in beanbags, it's surprisingly lonely in spite the crowd. We all seem to be listening to different drum sets. If I trade 'pods, will it cure the off the beaten feeling?

Now I'll wade into a game. More wars with greater cheer than has ever bled on earth. There's commentary. Debriefings. Reviews and ratings and springboard plots and art and the genesis of all this life makes me dizzy. At what point will my heart will sink in the network electric? One day I will grow up to be, not a doctor or athlete or clerk, but a thought dancing.