I dreamed last night of going to a church service with my mom. Only it wasn't any church I'd ever been to. It was fun! We ran into the church and did cartwheels down the aisles.
When a set of girls came into church, the were dancing in sync down the aisles. The littlest one fell over and was picked up. The service was not so much a service as it was a performance, a happy performance where people jumped out of their seats and little kids crawled underneath the pews.
It was a fun, happy dream.
So this morning, I woke irrevocably at five minutes after six AM.I stayed in bed for twenty minutes to see if I couldn't be persuaded to go back to sleep. No dice. The processes of wakefulness were in full swing. So I said, "Well, fuck it." and got the hell out of bed.
The problem with early mornings on the weekends is the same thing that's a benefit on the weekdays--nobody's awake. I don't think my roomie is home at the moment, so I could, in theory, start a load of laundry. But I was supposed to go out with P today and completely spaced it until this morning, and I want to call her and see if she still wants me to come down, germy as I am.
But, yes. So the Demons of Wakefulness dragged me from my bed, and I came down here and started writing. I told myself that I would write down here in my little windowless room until the sun rose,and then I would get up to face the day.
I think the cold stuff I took first thing is kicking in. I just tried my voice again and it was almost all there, unlike earlier this morning when it was a whisper as I tried to talk to the cat who was licking my cheek.
But I've got stuff I wanted to do today. Nothing's going to be open until at least three hours from now. I'd also like to pick up the house and stuff, but haven't really made that decision yet.
I just realized that I think i lent the book with a key to one of my boxes tucked in it to a friend. Whoops. I wonder if I still kept the key there? It doesn't matter, I have another one, but I still wonder.
It may be a sign that that particular life is far behind me.
Or that I've simply left it too long.
I'm not sure I ever expected anyone to want to borrow Godmother Night, is all.
So I'm here, visiting my BBSes, catching up with the journals I let slide during the week. Waiting for the sun to rise so i can feel better about going upstairs.Waiting.
I don't like rising in the dark. It's cold, I have to turn the lights on. I'd rather have enough brightness when I wake up that it's possible to stumble to the bathroom without turning anything on.
Just checked the back door. It's getting lighter out.
Finally.
Februarythe low point of the year,
chill and quiet, filled with grey
as a color, a weight.
a half-ton dumpster on garbage day.we endure, we winged things;
tucking feet into breast feathers,
the proud red-winged blackbird
is already staking his territory
in a voice like a rusty hinge.It happens every year and has happened
every year in our dim instinctual memory.
the wisdom of the ages passed down
in evolutionary impulses.
It'll go, soon.We are not waiting for anything.
not spring, not summer, not the ceasing of cold—
This is all there is.
Anything else would be an unpleasant surprise.2/12/00
