I swam in layers of inspiration and memory,
thoughts swirling around,
offering themselves to me in turns.
I couldn't catch them all
as they slid through my fingers and fell away like liquid sand.
Now I sit, music pumped in through the speakers pressed closely to my ears,
mostly blocking out the husband's incessant televised noise consumption.
He is mostly perfect,
so I mostly don't complain...
But this is a battle I don't bother to fight very often.
when I do,
I remember without fail
that it is a battle as easily navigated as
floating downriver on a sunny summer day.
It isn't a battle at all
it is just a different path,
as easily walked as the other.
But much more satisfying.
So here I sit, joyful in my cocoon of sound and keyboard.
I have spent much of this weekend lost in a fog of my own thoughts.
I haunt myself and turn my hunting inward.
I flit from the poetry of Mary Oliver to Charles Bukowski,
I drink chai latte and feel impatient to fill the day with more than it can hold;
I run away to the hill and ski down it as many times as I can
before my quads feel like jelly,
and I lie on the massage table
and let the friendly chat with my long-time therapist die out,
and I let her hands push the aches and knots out of me,
falling in a heap on the floor.
From beneath my layers of thinking and dreaming and remembering,
I celebrate with friends their decision to bind themselves together as a family,
and by Sunday night, I find myself immersed in the music of a large,
bearded man whom I wouldn't normally have chosen,
after seeing him perform on Saturday Night Live,
I can't shake him,
so I download his latest album and let it press against me
like an awkward dance partner
until the track comes on that I heard on the show,
and it's like noticing that dance partner's boner is against my thigh -
a sly smile crosses my face
and a flush flutters across my cheeks as I lean into him.
This artist is a welcome intruder to my world of rock and rap.
Monday, you're on deck.