It's 6:30 am and I've been spending some time downloading new fonts for a project I am working on. My fingers are cold because the cat demands that I keep letting her outside, and it's a bit nipply outdoors at this time of the day. My sunroom is drafty but I can keep watch for coyotes and fast cars - my job as a cat mom.
The rain came, along with a small group of men who call themselves landscapers, and washed/blew away most of the bright leaves. I was angry at the men, as I always am, for removing them so soon. The truth is that one of my favorite things is crunching through those leaves each morning on my way to work. More than the color or sound, is the scent of them - so earthy and pungent that I want to lie down like a golden retriever and roll in them, covering myself completely so I can breathe it in all day. I managed to grab my camera and take a few photos from ground level before they were gone. Now I'm on to coffee steam - seriously addicted to taking these kinds of photos. I no longer care that people stare at me in coffee shops but I don't really think they do. I feel invisible at times. I rarely wear make up anymore (outside of work) or wash my hair on weekends.
I can't decide if this is a good or bad thing.
I keep waiting for some version of loneliness to wash over me, especially once the Christmas decorations start showing. But it doesn't come. I seem to be happy enough despite (or because) of the solitary life I am living. It's as if it is part of the promise: to focus on things other than worry and dread. Instead, I go to the gym in the mornings and focus on my work outs without speaking. (to be fair, none of the hardcore gym rats speak at 5 am. We manage a nod or two, occasionally a "congrats" if one of us completed a marathon or race of some kind.)
I took a part time gig for a friend who opened two restaurants. It's something I can do from home, using a program to log myself into his computer miles away to gather what I need. I don't charge him much, and he is grateful and sends me gift certificates. I hoard these so that I can use them on visiting family.
Today I have a photo project that involves going to Home Depot and begging someone in the lumber department to cut specific pieces of wood for me. These things seem to be more of an exercise in patience than art, but I figure it's a better way to bide my time than zoning out in front of the TV. I've turned off some of my cable and I am not going to lie: it kind of sucks balls. Mostly this is when I cannot find a book that draws me in. Cracked open a new one last night "Half Broke Horses" by Jeannette Walls. So far so good.
This post made me so happy. You are one of the reasons I push myself. "When I am too sad and too skinny to keep keeping, when I am a tiny thing against so many bricks, then it is that I look to the trees. When there is nothing left to look at on this street. Four who grew despite concrete. Four who reach and do not forget to reach. Four whose only reason is to be and be." Thank you for being my tree.
ReplyDelete