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Saturday, Jun. 11, 2005 / 6:40 p.m. ~Saturday, Slow Day~ It feels like a slow day, and I want to think it's Sunday, I have to keep telling myself it's not, remind myself what day it really is, and the sky outside is heavy with rain, but it doesn't rain. I opened the door to feel it, the air, and it's thick and warm. Inside is air conditioned, and light, the carpet is clean underfoot, the dishes are washed and left to dry in the dishwasher, caramel coffee has been drunk, and music washed over me, reminding me of what I'd been missing. Loudon Wainwright III sang of talking to his cat, and wanting to go uptown with his woman, and knowing he can't eat meat because it will cause the gout, and then Billie Holiday had the blues, and Charlie Parker played the sax, and I read and wrote a bit, and sat at my table with the coffee, thinking of people in movies and how they always sit at tables with the coffee or their wine, their dinners, and lunches. Cats follow me from room to room, I could get up now and this one would too, and she'd find a place to lie, after not too long, she'd settle in there, and back again if I got up again. They have their totems, the sock and the bunny, ages old both, and they carry them from room to room making ungodly sounds, and I shusshhhhhh them and sometimes take the sock and the bunny away, put them up on a table out of reach. It's a slow day, really, and there is a desire to do much, to get it all done, clean it all, organize it all, fix it all, all in one day. But I've lost energy already and can't imagine doing more than I have. Last night I sat on the floor and looked at my books, pulled some from their shelves and flipped through, suddenly wanted to read every novel I own, every memoir, cook recipes from every cookbook. But I only sat to read one book that has had my place marked for months, and thought how easy it is, reading a book. Not staring at this screen, but at paper instead. A bit of panic yesterday, a brief malfunction, puzzling at that, but remedied as always, and connected again. And I've shared something surprising with someone, now awaiting the reaction, the response, which is totally unpredictable. There's something about this day, I think I like the sky hanging so low outside, the untimely darkness lately, I think I'd be happy if the sun took its time coming back out, and if maybe it could be Saturday every day. Cost of the War in Iraq
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