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Rainy Day Woman #37
Feb. 11th, 2005 12:31 pmIt's been a week of last straws without action. I'm so very glad to see a conclusion to the week, Friday afternoon closing up like a clamshell, leaving me at least the weekend.
The smell of rice burning in a pan is almost reminiscent of chocolate chip cookie dough. So when I woke up at 4:00 a.m. to the beep of the smoke alarm, thinking it was time to get up, I couldn't figure out what the hell was going on. Far as I knew, M. didn't know how to make cookies. He also, apparently, doesn't know how to make rice. I had to open my bedroom window, and woke this morning to cool air and rain, the cat pressed so close I had fur up my nose, grey light filtering in and what a perfect day it would have been for staying in bed.
We all live in a feedback loop I think, certain patterns and problems existing in cyclical perpetuity, but it doesn't make the panic less real or the frustration, the overwhelming weight of doing the same thing ad nauseum any better. I woke grey as the rain, as the sky, dressed and got in the car, and there was this riff on the radio, nothing I knew, but it was sound and rhythm, the right kind of noise and it caught me in the solar plexus, flipped my mood, reminded me of why I get up in the morning, why I bother. For that momentary jolt, that rush of pure pleasure.
Caught in my own writing woes, my own field of doubts, my joking harassment of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
crankygrrl, and I take for granted that rubberneck knows what her words do. And it's a failure, to not tell her, to not take every opportunity to do so. Her words really do have a life and a liveliness of their own, her text is rich and gritty and as textured as the moments she describes and she swears that if we tied her to a chair, she couldn't write, but sometimes it's such a tempting experiment.
Monday is Valentine's Day, and it always makes me feel a little mean, a little defensive and angry. I don't want to be annoyed by the small sappy gestures that lovers make towards each other, I want to enjoy them, but sometimes I just want to slap the parties involved and say jesus grow up and stop needing to read meaning into every word and every bloody beer bottle label. That's not a nice side of me.
So, make me feel less mean. Go forth and answer this Friday's![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
farscapefriday challenge.
The smell of rice burning in a pan is almost reminiscent of chocolate chip cookie dough. So when I woke up at 4:00 a.m. to the beep of the smoke alarm, thinking it was time to get up, I couldn't figure out what the hell was going on. Far as I knew, M. didn't know how to make cookies. He also, apparently, doesn't know how to make rice. I had to open my bedroom window, and woke this morning to cool air and rain, the cat pressed so close I had fur up my nose, grey light filtering in and what a perfect day it would have been for staying in bed.
We all live in a feedback loop I think, certain patterns and problems existing in cyclical perpetuity, but it doesn't make the panic less real or the frustration, the overwhelming weight of doing the same thing ad nauseum any better. I woke grey as the rain, as the sky, dressed and got in the car, and there was this riff on the radio, nothing I knew, but it was sound and rhythm, the right kind of noise and it caught me in the solar plexus, flipped my mood, reminded me of why I get up in the morning, why I bother. For that momentary jolt, that rush of pure pleasure.
Caught in my own writing woes, my own field of doubts, my joking harassment of
crankygrrl, and I take for granted that rubberneck knows what her words do. And it's a failure, to not tell her, to not take every opportunity to do so. Her words really do have a life and a liveliness of their own, her text is rich and gritty and as textured as the moments she describes and she swears that if we tied her to a chair, she couldn't write, but sometimes it's such a tempting experiment.Monday is Valentine's Day, and it always makes me feel a little mean, a little defensive and angry. I don't want to be annoyed by the small sappy gestures that lovers make towards each other, I want to enjoy them, but sometimes I just want to slap the parties involved and say jesus grow up and stop needing to read meaning into every word and every bloody beer bottle label. That's not a nice side of me.
So, make me feel less mean. Go forth and answer this Friday's
farscapefriday challenge.
