I am living, I remember you
I was too excited about the Captain America/Winter Soldier trailer to really pay attention to Elementary, but I recall being vaguely amused about Sherlock's annoyance that nobody was turning up dead. They can't all be hits, I guess.
When my alarm went off this morning, my whole person - body and soul - went "NOPE" so I called in sick and went back to sleep until almost noon. I don't know why I felt so wiped out, but I wasn't going to argue.
Then I got up, showered, and went to Starbucks for the first time in months, where I learned that at lunchtime, it is frequented by heavily caffeinated middle school girls who all talk like Lorelai Gilmore but with different pop culture references, and also that the rewards on my card had all expired, which I didn't know was even a thing that was possible. Sigh. Oh well.
I spent a lot of time looking at gif sets from the trailer on tumblr, and then I came out to the island, where I discovered that my brother and sister had been on a mad clearing out spree and while they were emptying all the kitchen cabinets (professional cleaners are coming tomorrow), they also threw out my dad's favorite iced tea glasses that he uses all the time. Which he was a little upset about when it was discovered. If I had been here, I would have stopped them, but neither he nor I was, so. That happened. My brother promised to buy him new ones, since he was the one who tossed them.
It's the little things, I guess. Otherwise, he - my dad, I mean - seems to be doing okay. He went to the doctor today, and the doctor says his health is good, so there's that. Though neither he nor my brother, who accompanied him, can remember if he actually got a flu shot, which was ostensibly the purpose of the visit. *hands* I don't even know. Everything else is a matter of taking it day by day, I guess.
Sigh.
Have a poem:
What the Living Do
Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil
probably fell down there.
And the Drano won't work but smells dangerous, and the crusty
dishes have piled up
waiting for the plumber I still haven't called. This is the everyday
we spoke of.
It's winter again: the sky's a deep headstrong blue, and the sunlight
pours through
the open living room windows because the heat's on too high in
here, and I can't turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the
street, the bag breaking,
I've been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday,
hurrying along those
wobby bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down
my wrist and sleeve,
I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This
is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called
that yearning.
what you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the
winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss -- we want more and
more and then more of it.
but there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself
in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I'm gripped by a
cherishing so deep
for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that
I'm speechless:
I am living, I remember you.
~Marie Howe
***
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/610692.html.
people have commented there.
When my alarm went off this morning, my whole person - body and soul - went "NOPE" so I called in sick and went back to sleep until almost noon. I don't know why I felt so wiped out, but I wasn't going to argue.
Then I got up, showered, and went to Starbucks for the first time in months, where I learned that at lunchtime, it is frequented by heavily caffeinated middle school girls who all talk like Lorelai Gilmore but with different pop culture references, and also that the rewards on my card had all expired, which I didn't know was even a thing that was possible. Sigh. Oh well.
I spent a lot of time looking at gif sets from the trailer on tumblr, and then I came out to the island, where I discovered that my brother and sister had been on a mad clearing out spree and while they were emptying all the kitchen cabinets (professional cleaners are coming tomorrow), they also threw out my dad's favorite iced tea glasses that he uses all the time. Which he was a little upset about when it was discovered. If I had been here, I would have stopped them, but neither he nor I was, so. That happened. My brother promised to buy him new ones, since he was the one who tossed them.
It's the little things, I guess. Otherwise, he - my dad, I mean - seems to be doing okay. He went to the doctor today, and the doctor says his health is good, so there's that. Though neither he nor my brother, who accompanied him, can remember if he actually got a flu shot, which was ostensibly the purpose of the visit. *hands* I don't even know. Everything else is a matter of taking it day by day, I guess.
Sigh.
Have a poem:
What the Living Do
Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil
probably fell down there.
And the Drano won't work but smells dangerous, and the crusty
dishes have piled up
waiting for the plumber I still haven't called. This is the everyday
we spoke of.
It's winter again: the sky's a deep headstrong blue, and the sunlight
pours through
the open living room windows because the heat's on too high in
here, and I can't turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the
street, the bag breaking,
I've been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday,
hurrying along those
wobby bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down
my wrist and sleeve,
I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This
is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called
that yearning.
what you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the
winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss -- we want more and
more and then more of it.
but there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself
in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I'm gripped by a
cherishing so deep
for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that
I'm speechless:
I am living, I remember you.
~Marie Howe
***
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/610692.html.
people have commented there.