I spent a horrible night. Anxieties and nightmares probably brought on by the thought of leaving the house and traveling. In some ways, I'm feeling forced to do this, coerced by my own words of bravado. Maybe I want to go. Maybe I don't. There are conditions. I am comfortable in my house, my life. But I want to go, too. Maybe just not yet. Or maybe I do. It is not so far. I could drive there and back between sunrise and sunset easily and have breakfast and lunch besides. Sure. Maybe today. Maybe soon. Just pack a bag. Two days. Three days. You don't need much. Where would I stay? I've checked hotel prices. Everything is expensive unless I stay far, far away from everything, Even an airport hotel is expensive. Cheap is out near the Monkey Jungle. The place in this photo, maybe. It is well-located and not all that expensive. Almost cheap. What's the deal with that? I read reviews. It is just a cheap motel with a big glass add on. But it is on the waterway and not far from things. Maybe. I need more time. What if I make a mistake? When did I become like this? I prefer a little luxury now, but I cannot sustain that if I want to travel. The money river is hardly flowing and I've drained the account on house and car repairs and bad non-investments. Still, a person needs to live, but my house is fine and I live in paradise of sorts.
I must make up my mind now. If I don't go, you'll judge me, but you don't know everything. You might think you do, but there is much that I keep hidden. But surely I should go. I might feel better. And it is not that far away. I'll go. I'll wait. I don't know. I don't know. You go. I don't care. Just don't judge me.
Yup.
ReplyDeleteDo exactly what you want.
We ain’t no Judgey Mc Judgy Pantsers here at your cafe.
I like the way the place looks tho. Did you colorize it?
Okies. Hope you did
didn’t
maybe
whatever.
that could be a little poem:
ReplyDeleteOkies
Hope you Did
Didn't - Maybe
Whatever.
I'm getting navely - The poet DESPISED the NAVELY.
It's exhausting. All of it. But it is just practice - and I'm trying to be brave. I thought maybe I might find something -- if I just go with it. How are you supposed to find anything if you aren't an Explorer.
What am I at the fucking therapists office?
Okies. I'm posting it. Cause that's what I do. During NaPoMo.
Oh. I dislocated my little toe this morning - watering my gigantic Citronella plant. It was horizontal to my foot. It is now extremely sore, swollen and black and blue. (I pushed it back in the right place). One legged Friday Night Dance Party. (I really like Dylan's Modern Times. Have I mentioned this before?
Eastertide: A True Story: Sometimes Things Are So Easy or “All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust. "― J.M. Barrie,
The Poet named the skunk “George.”
He had gotten into gardening –
We trained cottage wild roses to grow
in the fancy parterre style
on a weather beaten fence I poached
free on the side of the road .
I encouraged a vegetable garden.
We put in a lavender bed
mixed with sedums
and a big spikey grass in the center
where there was once just sand.
I started calling him "McGregor ,"
The Poet, he became ornery
with the bunnies and their adoration
of our raspberries.
We saw the skunk sometimes
when we were sitting on the porch at dusk
– colors in the sky
the moon, stars, later. We always said
"Hey George," as he waddled by us toward the neighbors,
who often left out some scrap for whatever creature
might stroll the night and need a snack.
One night, we were doing
the same exact thing as the night before
and the night before that, etc.
cause it was good and we were happy,
I was busy telling a story
about being out in the world,
maybe my first and last meeting
with the Rotary:
“yak, yak, yak,”
The Poet didn't mind –
I talk a bit too much.
Did I tell you?
It was a perfect Cape Cod
early August night -
we had a plate between us -
of cukes & cherry tomatoes
picked earlier in the day -
You know now,
what I'm trying to say --
there are these Holy things
that stir you.
I was still talking –
when the Poet pointed
under my chair – it was George
– kinda listening
– now rubbing against my leg.
There was faith & trust all around.
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