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Heat Stroke
Jul. 18th, 2006 08:25 pmIt's been hot here, although the air is cooling off nicely tonight, enough so that it makes me want to sit outside in a lawn chair with cold beer and cigarettes, feeling the condensation on my fingers, against my collarbone, pressing into the filter of the cigarette, mixing with the smoke.
Last night it was so hot in our apartment that I went and stood in front of the freezer for five minutes, then dug out a popsicle that'd been in there for years. It had melted and refrozen, leading me to believe that it probably hadn't even started life in our fridge, but in S's when they lived upstairs, but it was cold and fruit flavored and here, and I sucked it out of it's plastic, freezerburn and all, getting my fingers sticky and raspberry colored.
I'm at the point in the writing process where I'm writing, even if not vigorously, but it's constant. It's in my head and everything I do has a narration as I try to figure out how to put it in the story, how to shape the story. I wish there was someplace to put the heat and the freezerburned popsicles.
Even the horrors in the middle east are feeding the storytelling urge, all of these people fleeing to Beirut in order to get out of Lebanon, going out to the stores when there're lulls in the bombing, trying to get food to keep them going. Wanting to steal that feels like exploitation, but I know of very little better than words and stories that can pay tribute to people and the way they suffer.
At Target today, I bought a Turbo fan and a red Ottoman on wheels that may be my new favorite thing. It's a storage Ottoman and holds one black cat quite nicely, although like many of the things I encourage the cat to do, I probably shouldn't. I can put my feet up when I sit on the couch, which means that M. and I and the cats don't have to all jam up on the surface area of the good couch and try not to touch each other like siblings who've been forbidden to make contact, knowing the slightest brush of follicle or skin cell is going to spur on cries of, "Mom, she won't stopping TOUCHING me."
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cofax7 was asking what we'd like to see the writers do to Mitchell, how we'd like them to showcase his weaknesses, put up conflict for him. And somedaybitch and I both think C. should write Mitchell and Sheppard, both facing insurmountable odds. However, I'm sure C. (and the rest of us) would be happy to see anyone else willing to take up this mantle.
Last night it was so hot in our apartment that I went and stood in front of the freezer for five minutes, then dug out a popsicle that'd been in there for years. It had melted and refrozen, leading me to believe that it probably hadn't even started life in our fridge, but in S's when they lived upstairs, but it was cold and fruit flavored and here, and I sucked it out of it's plastic, freezerburn and all, getting my fingers sticky and raspberry colored.
I'm at the point in the writing process where I'm writing, even if not vigorously, but it's constant. It's in my head and everything I do has a narration as I try to figure out how to put it in the story, how to shape the story. I wish there was someplace to put the heat and the freezerburned popsicles.
Even the horrors in the middle east are feeding the storytelling urge, all of these people fleeing to Beirut in order to get out of Lebanon, going out to the stores when there're lulls in the bombing, trying to get food to keep them going. Wanting to steal that feels like exploitation, but I know of very little better than words and stories that can pay tribute to people and the way they suffer.
At Target today, I bought a Turbo fan and a red Ottoman on wheels that may be my new favorite thing. It's a storage Ottoman and holds one black cat quite nicely, although like many of the things I encourage the cat to do, I probably shouldn't. I can put my feet up when I sit on the couch, which means that M. and I and the cats don't have to all jam up on the surface area of the good couch and try not to touch each other like siblings who've been forbidden to make contact, knowing the slightest brush of follicle or skin cell is going to spur on cries of, "Mom, she won't stopping TOUCHING me."
cofax7 was asking what we'd like to see the writers do to Mitchell, how we'd like them to showcase his weaknesses, put up conflict for him. And somedaybitch and I both think C. should write Mitchell and Sheppard, both facing insurmountable odds. However, I'm sure C. (and the rest of us) would be happy to see anyone else willing to take up this mantle.
