Jumble Brain
This morning is moving too fast. I want to get out the door. Vote, meander to the Papery and find a new notebook, then spend some of my day off at the coffee shop, soaking up the agitated buzz of election day.
I need to wander the neighbourhood and contemplate where I would like to re-situate my nest, now that the new owner has confirmed I will not have the option to stay after august.
My FB newsfeed informs me that Osama Bin Laden is dead. I realize I should probably seek a more concrete reporting, but it seems such a tiny detail. A tiny huge thing. At the end of the day, the death of one man is not going to have a significant impact on the climate of the world we live in. I am perplexed by the jubilant celebration, the crow-ful glee from the camp that genuinely believes we are stamping out hatred, one death at a time. I cannot fathom living in such a black and white, us and them world.
Unrelated: Themes and threads percolating in my brain. I think I am writing entire novels as I drift off to sleep, but of course they are almost entirely gone by morning. I choose to believe this is my brain's way of discarding the chaff.
And. Oh so very too much going on. Voting day holding breath excitement, barely contained hope for sweeping changes. It's not too much to ask, is it?
Jumbling onward, more and more time spent with Hippy Poet. And not just face time, but calls now, to touch base when physical presence isn't. This means something, maybe, but I am undecided what. He needs a new tag, really, one that better fits the more I know of him, but I'm not sure yet what it is.
And suspension of knowing is fine.
I will try for better details, later, about things that are maybe interesting, like friday's 1AM wakeup call for drinks at The Atomic Rooster, followed by my first visit to his cozy little space, and the eventual 5:30AM goodbye kisses on my doorstep. Possibly scandalizing my watch of seniors, but I prefer to imagine them cheering me on.
I need to wander the neighbourhood and contemplate where I would like to re-situate my nest, now that the new owner has confirmed I will not have the option to stay after august.
My FB newsfeed informs me that Osama Bin Laden is dead. I realize I should probably seek a more concrete reporting, but it seems such a tiny detail. A tiny huge thing. At the end of the day, the death of one man is not going to have a significant impact on the climate of the world we live in. I am perplexed by the jubilant celebration, the crow-ful glee from the camp that genuinely believes we are stamping out hatred, one death at a time. I cannot fathom living in such a black and white, us and them world.
Unrelated: Themes and threads percolating in my brain. I think I am writing entire novels as I drift off to sleep, but of course they are almost entirely gone by morning. I choose to believe this is my brain's way of discarding the chaff.
And. Oh so very too much going on. Voting day holding breath excitement, barely contained hope for sweeping changes. It's not too much to ask, is it?
Jumbling onward, more and more time spent with Hippy Poet. And not just face time, but calls now, to touch base when physical presence isn't. This means something, maybe, but I am undecided what. He needs a new tag, really, one that better fits the more I know of him, but I'm not sure yet what it is.
And suspension of knowing is fine.
I will try for better details, later, about things that are maybe interesting, like friday's 1AM wakeup call for drinks at The Atomic Rooster, followed by my first visit to his cozy little space, and the eventual 5:30AM goodbye kisses on my doorstep. Possibly scandalizing my watch of seniors, but I prefer to imagine them cheering me on.