The watched pot has yet to boil. Despite the salt, despite the steady heat. It just shimmers with impatience. Seriously, dude. I mean, seriously.
I am coddling a headache along my temple walls. I’m letting the kitten bite at my ankles. I had coffee ice cream. Maybe one scoop. I feel odd. This is not new news, this is nothing to wake up the children over, this is just a thing we say to bring the more interesting things to the fore.
I don’t care the stringency of the rules, I just want to play the game within them. I just want to stop playing keepaway, and play, well, whatever the amusement comes from. It doesn’t, at this point, come from the waiting.
I am going to dream wildly tonight. It’s my one day for it, my one breath of astral life, and will fly. No more climbing slippery stairs tat ascend hundreds of feet in the air over airport terminals. No more struggle dreams. A warm dream, a prophetic dream, a peaceful bliss, that’s what I want. None of this exhaustion between wakeful exhaustions.
No more I wants.
I had planned to be able to use my words up elsewhere. That does not appear to be the case and I am yawning aggressively, ready for sleep, and not for the offer that was made this morning and kept me fluttering and chattering all afternoon.
The coffee ice cream has worn off. I am worn down. I am able, through this small, dirty window, to see the bigger picture. Of being used, regardless of what use you are getting in return, and of the stuff that gets stripped away in the process. Of deserving a soul that will explain, that will free, that will declaim as it disclaims that I am no longer bound or needed. I do not think it is possible to shift the paradigm at this moment, but I am aware of how it can chafe.
This afternoon there was a rally in town from one candidate, described by the old co-worker who was there, as excellent. I read and viewed the pictures with disdain, I calculated rebuttal and cruel, cutting comments that I would like to post in response. I did not post them – in part because of the thought that the job I am working on means that I will be rattling around with the rest of these marbles in the frying pan and in part, the greater part, because I just don’t have the fury tonight.
After the rally, there was a smaller political gathering happening in the building across the street from my shop and at some point, a woman went out in the street and started screaming. My vantage point did not give me the who, where, or the content of her message – only her unbelievable rage. The customers and my coworker tried to talk over it, tried to ignore it. It was not really possible to ignore it.
I have to surrender what space is in my heart, mind, and soul to fight and just let myself hear the screams.