Sunday, May 21, 2006

synchronized octopi: feminine and floating

I've had a lot of alone time this week. Graduated. Done. I made a point to take some time off of work, and to avoid doing my hobbies. Ive been looking forward to this lull for three years. Maybe longer. The lull is here my sweet darlings. I have finally obtained it. Now make it go away.

At the beginning of the lull, it was nice. Drink alone all night, sleep alone all day. Waking up at two or three in the afternoon, with my hair sticking to the back of my neck, sprawled across my bed with Delores at my side, watching me wake up. I like to wake up with the sun in my eyes, and with an east facing room, it always is. There is something to be said about those little circles that appear when the sun reflects off your eyelashes and directly into your retinas. Get out of bed. Eat. Read all day. Drink all night. Lather, rinse, repeat.

It's been in my head, that there are a lot of wonderful things that have been waiting for me to think about them. They needed my attention. What it actually comes down to, dear friends and foes, is that all of these wonderful little nuances are things I dont really want to think about and have successfully distracted myself from for anywhere between one and eighteen years. Fuck. Now I am totally cornered with it. With, them, actually. The nuanceful nothings are shaped like octopi and boredom is acting as a tank that follows me, rendering me vulnerable to the hundreds of psychedelic tentacles that are reaching for my attention.

I'm sure with enough free time, or lull as I like to call it, I can train the nuances. Teach them to swim for me, all synchronized, spiraling with their arms loose and graceful. Feminine and floating. Then those tenicles wont grab for me, but they will dance with me. Throw my relatively small figure out of our wandering tank, up in the air, over and over again. Until they eventually throw me so high that falling back into the tank would most certainly mean the end of all of my tangents and at the very last moment of peril, while delighting in my last breath, my very old charming friends the crows will flap and dive, pulling the drenched daughter out of the water, and flying back over to that circle of silent corvids, over the intersection at Third and Franklin.

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