I’m dragging my mind around everywhere I go. I’m clutching it to keep it from running off, and I’m losing my grip.
. .. .. .
When I was little, I had a record player that looked like a suitcase, a plastic one made to look like it was stitched together with random cuts of denim. It had two small latches on the front like what you’d find on such a suitcase, and when unlatched, the top opened along hindges on the back. The turntable was there inside. My favorite records included one with Shirley Temple songs, an audio book of fairy tales, and a Steve Miller Band album that I found in my room. The band’s album cover had a flying white horse with rainbow wings, so wasn’t I surprised to find such a treasure; wasn’t I surprised to discover its contents. My first exposure to and love of rock music was Swingtown and The Joker.
. . . … .
I’ve been waiting for a layer of paint to dry, and I thought coming here would occupy my mind. But I can’t type loudly enough.
The paint is dry now, I think. It’s ready for another layer of emotional turmoil.
I haven’t slept as hard in my life as I’ve slept this week, and I’m fading as I now write. And rewrite.
I have a small adult cat with exceptionally soft fluffy fur and razor-sharp teeth. Perhaps you saw her gazing out of my rain-soaked window. She’s currently sitting as closely to this little white screen as she can, here in the dark.
As I type and pause and backspace and type some more.
Filling a need to write.
With no words at hand.
. .. .. ….. .
I start #2 tomorrow.
It’s morning, and the weather couldn’t be better. I walked outside to a breeze that almost felt like it came from an ocean (it probably did).
I woke up with another old song in my head. Pat Benatar this time. (?!)
It feels like we took a short break from summer and then summer ended. Feels like the first week of school. Feels different. It is different.
I don’t like it.
But what is one to do?
Good morning, Oh World.
My alarm tells me it’s set to go off in 6 hours and 43 minutes. That was several minutes ago. That is a shocking amount of time to go without sleep.
I think college started recently. I think about it. I wonder where people have decided to go and what they have decided to study and whether they like it so far.
These are people who are going to change the world, you know. Or make a good solid dent in it.
.. . …. .. . . … .
I am that blue Seated Woman. I wonder what she was thinking as she sat there, and I wonder whether Picasso really cared what she was thinking. She was how he saw the world in those days; he was happy then, I think. Wasn’t she his muse? I don’t know much about it. I’m just that blue part.
Goodnight, Oh World.
Someone sent me this picture of the house we almost put an offer on a few weeks ago. We decided against the house because we didn’t like the driveway, and the decision was a hard one to make because the house was really cool.
The arrow points to the water line where the flood water reached. Three days ago, the house was 14 feet underwater.
It wasn’t 14 feet underwater. It was in water 14-feet deep.
After re-translating this text many times over and from many different languages to many others, I now have a translation that is nothing like the original text.
An interesting result:
But I do not know what it is, but the sound. I do not know what to write. But this is nothing.
Bored and meaningless drivel at 1 something am