12 September 2008

Stormy weather

It's been a weird week.

Of course, the talk surrounds Ike. Not only is the spouse a weather junky--he'd watch the Weather Channel non-stop if he could get away with it--there's the whole disaster thing. Otherwise known as work.

The office is already gearing up.

There is a great deal going on in my head, as well as out of it. As well, there is doing what needs to be done on a daily basis to keep this little world turning on its axis. I have been staring at blank documents, literally and figuratively, for days. I've made progress; I've stormed around in annoyance at the slow pace. My brain feels like a great weight inside my skull, and I feel gravity pulling inexorably, keeping me grounded, stuck.

I have been sleeping poorly, but dreaming wildly when I do sleep. The dreams have been as unsatisfying as waking life, but they are weirdly right, eerily correct in what they are portraying. I know the lesson I'm supposed to take from them is to stop holding myself to an inhuman level of perfection, to allow life to occur in its own time.

I walked away from everything over the weekend and shredded things in the garden instead, earning myself bloody fingers and contact dermatitis. Then Sunday, in a fit of fury, I started cooking. Apple cinnamon scones for breakfast, cookies for school lunches, tamale pie (a favorite of the spouse and his father), homemade chicken noodle soup for dinner.

The weather here has been unseasonably cool, especially in the morning when it has been chill and foggy, though I find I don't mind it as much as I usually do. The early walk to the bus stop has become the time for the son and I to talk over what is going on with him, our quiet time, 10 minutes when he has me to himself. And the walk home is my own, a few extra minutes to wake up, to consider the day.

As I traveled back along the street, the fog broke up early, the sun began to break through, bits of blue sky bright behind the muddy rags of cloud. Just looking at it, I felt a little less foggy myself. It bodes well.

I don't much care for gravity's pull.

Go listen to some good music: "Stormy Weather" from the album At Last! by Etta James.

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