Out in the world, not trying to turn things around so much as document what went terribly, and the alerts start coming in, a drill, a let’s-pretend. Sobering to see what we were preparing for, overlaid with what was: the open doorways, pedestrians, cars, our workaday Wednesday no worse for wear.
Grasping at straws, fidgeting through tabs and screens, grumping through it. But there was wind in my sails, the coffee worked and there may be something new in a day or two to make me distracted, if not satisfied. Maybe I can make it on through, straighten up and figure out some margin tinkering.
A break in the rain, with the attendant pressure rise and clearing clouds, brings a little clarity. Things seen at distances look closer. Perspective turns deceptive. One swings a razor around and cuts oneself shaving. Maybe last night’s sleep wasn’t at issue; maybe it’ll be tonight or tomorrow’s.
Bodies moving through space and time, occupying public land not so much out of commerce or tourism or capital, but creativity and invention, coordinated effort in service to curiosity and joy and beauty, or just taking time to make noise and tell stories about surviving the past and being present.
Barely barreled through the pages this morning, then did the home things in earnest, carrying around for books to hold or turn back in early. Then we stopped by the spot for our usual on the way to our reading about the Great War (shout-out to Hochschild), crawled past the lake and made it home.
A little time today in the chair, mouth open and biting down on a guard, tools strewn across a clip-on bib across my chest, as the Great Work continues apace and is set to continue next month with a cleaning and a full set of X-rays, and likely stretch well into the new year’s spring.
More ripping and running and gunning, late as the White Rabbit and then annoyed as Alice in front of a Cheshire Cat. But even noticing things is no guarantee of freedom, ease or liberty. I was a little luckier today than before, surrounded by less luckier folk and keenly aware. Tomorrow? As always.
Make me a day where I’m full of requirements, pulled in several different directions, greeting folks familiar from prior scenes and digging through things, filling out forms and walking in circles without respite, and tell me the day’s been almost thirty years, and hand me a drink to toast it.
Two towns over from home, clear early skies gave way to tongues of mist, with a wall of the soupy stuff sticking to the interstate until clearing up at the bridge itself. Checking the forecast at the office yielded a dense fog advisory that let the skyline play peekaboo off and on into late morning.
It wasn’t a good walk spoiled, so much as complicated. I wasn’t setting any records, but I had to keep moving around if I wanted to pay the right kind of attention. Wandering isn’t always immediately productive, but it’s almost always the point; a lot distracts, but just enough gets things done.
