Perfect.
'Mildred Pierce' is on the television.
James M. Cain - he falls like rain inside my head.
Autumn is fading and the trees are mostly naked; they stand around in groups
stunned by the arrival of colder weather. I miss the extravagant finery they still wore
last week and applaud the stubborn few still hanging on to their gold and their crimson.
These briefer, darker days agitate me. Somehow, navigating inside an ever shrinking pool of sunlight creates ambivalent compulsions: do more/be less, do less/be more, get busy/plant your ass, wake up/sleep like the dead...
connect.
disconnect.
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3 comments:
Yes, yes. My mind shrinks in accordance with the light. My moods are plain and my bones get cold. I want to be warm, be (if possible) curled up beneath a blanket, I cannot begin or finish projects in the nighttime, night, early night, is for sleep.
So. Mildred Pierce is perfect. 1930's musicals are perfect. Fred Astaire is perfect. Esther William swims too much. Erin and Jessica were here this weekend. They went to a wedding in Seattle on Saturday. Erin left her belt at home and - imagine - I found one of my own - from 12 yrs ago - and IT FIT! That was perfect, for Erin. I made her say she was lucky to have a stepmother who had kept most of her thin clothes. She said it. I made her say it. I love the thought of Brown Shoes padding around her house going from here to there and then coming back to watch Mildred Pierce. Peeing is the only excuse for getting up.
Geez, I love the way you write! Thank you. I am so glad that you feel this way too. Comfort in a group thing. Maybe we'll just be a herd of jammie-clad movie watchers padding around our houses.
Yeah, it's time to hibernate on the couch, with tea, cookies and good books! And maybe a good man will build a nice fire in the fireplace. Yum!
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