Mar 29, 2004

Sunsoaked and Caffeinated

I had time to nap, but I realized I was just lying very still and acknowledging that I was awake with closed eyes. The day got such an early start. In a way, I praise the obligation current. Having to be somewhere is an excellent means of being somewhere. But I'm back now, and the web isn't working for me, and there are things coursing through my brain. I felt pretty in summer clothes but sleepy-eyed. Coffee on Melrose brought back memories of coffee on Melrose. The stroll of the sidewalk rendered leggy reflections. I was only under any pressure when I was standing still.

That's what leads to a certain frantic posture. And questions get raised and go unanswered. I picture things going a certain way. They never do. I think, "Wouldn't it be nice?" It never is. Whatever it is I am missing -- maybe it's the plug to a drain. And everything else circles down into the overflow. It keeps me from ever maintaining proper levels of anything. Unfolding something folded and finding nothing inside. Or unfolding it to find it isn't what it once was. Mysteries. Magic tricks. Is this your card?

I detest not being certain of anything. But perhaps it is the gateway. Perhaps it means being open. Perhaps certainty is a tomb. I just know that it has been easier and it has been harder. It has been wonderful and it has been cruel. It has been instantaneous and it has been endless. It has been excruciating. When you get to the place where everything is said in the past tense, it's as if the present no longer exists. You can't catch it. It's always a second ahead of you. You're so busy cataloguing what once was that you have no fluency for what is. And you wrap yourself up in what's next, blind to what's now. Isn't there a pair of glasses I can wear -- something that will help me to keep an eye on all of it? Isn't there a point where it ceases to be academic? Isn't life more than all the reasons to be sorry?

It makes me scoot my skirt a little further down on my hips. It makes me stand up straight. Being a girl is making a woman of me.

It's hot out there. And I'm STARVING.

posted by Mary Forrest at 3:26 PM | Back to Monoblog


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