Flog Loom

By: L.

Oct 10 2015

Tags: ,

Category: self

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Aperture:f/4
Focal Length:41.6mm
Shutter:1/400 sec

Just, like, be a real person, why don’t you?

I am okay.  I have been “Clue”d into the fact that my emotions are a log flume right now, chucking massive trunks of chopped down, raw fee-wings and there is nothing further to do than watch them go.

You try and remember on days like these that you have passed by terrible circumstances before without dying.  Without bleeding out on the front law, without complete disengagement of your faculties.

This morning, when I went to my mother’s to make waffles as that is an adult house and they keep such adult items as waffle and pancake mix not only in stock, but homemade and put in bulk into a giant, labeled canister for you to scoop it out at will, I did have a brief moment of my own adultness.  It is strange to me how it can be so obvious – even if I could never ever name the reason why – that I can’t do something.  Like turn left on a particular road.  If I have to guess, the reason is nothing more than one time my blood sugar was a tad bit low and there was a car that didn’t have their blinker on and decided to turn and I misjudged something and it made me a bit nervous about how close I came to an “incident” and so a vicious cycle of avoidance gets forged on one road, at one light, possibly even depending on the time of day.  For all my cleverness, this record is made in my brain and it sticks there.  It is, even if talking about it makes the rational part of me recognize the totality of its irrationality.  And yet, this morning, I wanted waffles a minute faster so I turned left.

I have been told I write long sentences.  The thing about this place is nobody can stop me with my run-ons.  They can go on in perpetuity and even long after my death and even long after yours and even long after all the trees die and the electricity stops beeping and all those remaining can hear is a whisper that sounds like nothing they can name for sure, maybe a rustling of cotton sheets, maybe the turn of the waterwheel driving the logs down the river, maybe just the way evening sounds when you crane to hear a car, or a bird, or someone marching through dry grass, but you just hear the night itself.

So, this is evening two of the four evening cycle.  I did not stain the desk, but I did save my mother briefly when her back went out.  And watched Who Do You Think You Are while preparing to stain the desk.   Apparently, I hadn’t considered the fact that I might need a brush or something.  I wasn’t planning a Pollock, but I thought there would be a brush lying around.  This is a less than a adult way to look at things.  I also downloaded a lot of stupid clothes for the Sims.  I am hoping to be more over that tomorrow.

More, not less.  More, not less!

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