So I’ve given the blog a recent look-over; good gods[i], where has the time gone!? It’s been a bit of a slurry, this month of February. The Packers won the Super Bowl at some point, Egypt had its little revolution and Libya might yet have its; there were taxes to be done and driveways to shovel and bars to infrequent. When it’s all said and done {such a baaaad cliché!} a lot has happened. And yet!
I wake up tussled in blankets on a lopsided leather couch in my father’s basement; the flat light of mid-morning intrudes through the windows, now unburied as the drifts in the yard begin to recede. I harken back to yesterday and try to place the current date. Is it a Wednesday? A Tuesday? What time is it even? As the tangled memory of my recent dreams rips away from my consciousness I flip open my laptop on the adjoining coffee table and semi-drowsily check my email. Perhaps there’s a response to any number of job applications? {the time is 9.37; not too bad} None such. In fact, all I’ve got to delete is a send-out from the monster.com chock-full of non-applicable openings from a smattering of uninteresting locales like.
Dismayed a tisch, I make a mental run-through of my morning to-be. Slip into bathrobe. Pocket one (1) clean pair underwear, one (1) clean shirt. Urinate, brush teeth, and apply contacts in downstairs basement bathroom. Collect scattered mugs and cups from basement underdwelling. Bring dishes (3) to kitchen, prepare pot of coffee. Admire birds on backyard feeder. Take shower in ground-level superdwelling bathroom. Dress and pocket one (1) pair sullied underwear. Dole out coffee into a mug from day previous and sit on upstairs {taut corduroy} sofa. Wonder what day it is, what year of what century, what planet. It needn’t matter. Every day is a Minot weekday morning in the Fugue.
I wonder if there’s anything to write; maybe a burst of inspiration will get scribbled down somewhere on a handy scrap of paper, to be filed away for future use. Maybe not. Perhaps I’ll instead enjoy the writings of others. Or perhaps I’ll get back to the online scanning and buzzing and waiting out the job market, wishing it could somehow come out in newspaper-print form, complete with daily jumble. Something palpable and friendly, like this coffee.
[i] I’m often inclined to exclaim things like ‘good God’ or ‘Heavens above,’ or the all-too-popular ‘God’s balls!’ However, I feel likewise inclined to somewhat reconcile my beliefs with my erstwhile meaningless lingo. So although I won’t say ‘good godlessness’ or ‘great voids beyond,’ a watered-down {vaguely Victorian} reference to polytheism seems like a good halfway.
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