My head is empty
When I've said nothing for a long while, I like to say nothing for even longer in the hopes that my silence - oh, that sounds more meaningful than true - suggests busyness or mystery or, at the very least, an implied decision to abandon LJ.
The fact of the matter is, my head is empty.
I can tell you that the leaves are half yellow, half green - oh, there's a little spot of red (I wish there was more red). My husband is snoring softly, and the fridge is humming, and the keys of my keyboard sound so nice and clicky. I'm dreading Monday morning, which is a horrible thing to admit because I love my job (maybe, yes, I should, I don't, not really; I like it, about half the times, but that sounds like failure, doesn't it?).
Routine.
My cat is meowing. She wants ... something. I understand, Lulu. You think you want some comfort, and then you get picked up and petted and damn it, just leave me alone, I just want to be left alone! Maybe I'll go eat something.
There are apples (we went apple picking yesterday with a little girl who sang "Way up high, in the tree, two red apples smiled at me, so I shook that tree as hard as I could, down came the apples, yum they're good" - an anti-smiling song if I've ever heard one), but no, apples are loud and crunchy and my husband is sleeping nearby. Cookie dough, however, is much softer. Such a considerate food, cookie dough.
But no, I think not; there's that slight pinch of the jeans (recently washed, so naturally a little tighter than they should be), and besides, it takes so much effort to get out of this really uncomfortable wood spindle kitchen chair and walk the two feet to the fridge.
So instead, I'll just keep rambling here in the hopes that this laptop computer will help me ignore all the things I want to ignore. Empty head. It's not very good for the soul, but it's easier than doing what needs to be done.
The fact of the matter is, my head is empty.
I can tell you that the leaves are half yellow, half green - oh, there's a little spot of red (I wish there was more red). My husband is snoring softly, and the fridge is humming, and the keys of my keyboard sound so nice and clicky. I'm dreading Monday morning, which is a horrible thing to admit because I love my job (maybe, yes, I should, I don't, not really; I like it, about half the times, but that sounds like failure, doesn't it?).
Routine.
My cat is meowing. She wants ... something. I understand, Lulu. You think you want some comfort, and then you get picked up and petted and damn it, just leave me alone, I just want to be left alone! Maybe I'll go eat something.
There are apples (we went apple picking yesterday with a little girl who sang "Way up high, in the tree, two red apples smiled at me, so I shook that tree as hard as I could, down came the apples, yum they're good" - an anti-smiling song if I've ever heard one), but no, apples are loud and crunchy and my husband is sleeping nearby. Cookie dough, however, is much softer. Such a considerate food, cookie dough.
But no, I think not; there's that slight pinch of the jeans (recently washed, so naturally a little tighter than they should be), and besides, it takes so much effort to get out of this really uncomfortable wood spindle kitchen chair and walk the two feet to the fridge.
So instead, I'll just keep rambling here in the hopes that this laptop computer will help me ignore all the things I want to ignore. Empty head. It's not very good for the soul, but it's easier than doing what needs to be done.