Sunday, October 30, 2011

Superdaze

In about six hours we'll be heading out for the airport. I should probably be sleeping right now. But the problem with early morning flights are early morning departures and the night before said early departures.

I wonder if I've got all my ducks in a row. My tix. My ID. Everything packed that I actually need? Will the cat be OK? (He looks at his feeder with great comfort.) Did I remember to pack my toothbrush?

Now Kim's checking the levels of cat food and waiting to use her computer (mine has decided to die this weekend, a weird rampant event that seems to be traveling about in our circles... if you are reading this post, save your work now!).

"Yellow" floats around in the ether about me. I carry yellow legal pads to keep me inspired and urge me to write, and when I go to put the words down, they stutter stump and stall their way out. Pulling teeth. Pulled together phrases. Pulled together glimpses of scenes waiting to happen.

Scenes about town seem to call to me. I was biking home one evening, and a young man buzzed by on his bike - yellow tires. It is now just a matter of making the time. How hard could that be? Turn the oven to 350. Let it pre-heat. Beat two eggs with white flour, a dash of salt and let something rise, and in thirty minutes, create an afternoon?

When I was fourteen, I wanted one thing for Christmas. It was a desperate wish: a typewriter. I didn't care if it was old or new or what-have-you, just to have that reassuring ability to create formal words on paper. When Christmas morning came and went, and there was no typewriter for me, it was the worst Christmas ever. I'm pretty sure my disappointment was palpable. It was like being told I would no longer be allowed to dream. My parents took me to Houston that weekend to the mega-office-supply store - Office Max - which was a new-fangled invention of consumerism at that time. We left with a typewriter, and I immediately got to work. My parents breathed a sigh of relief.

Now, my computer is lifeless. Literally. It doesn't light or bell or whistle. It doesn't hum or crank or even bother to spin pointlessly in a holding pattern. And for some reason, this has become my excuse to hesitate.

Oh that and time. But I'm working on a recipe for that.

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