Happy Place
If I don't have your email address, you're missing out. I got an email from Kathy the other day that I can't post but which completely stopped work at City Hall for a good half hour (on second thought, that's not really that difficult to do). If it makes accountants laugh, it'll work on you. Email me if you want it.
I had a weird dizzy spell this evening for an hour or two, quite like Morgan's episode yesterday. A not-quite-right, world-is-spinning feeling, like I had too much potent tequila in Tepic, Nayarit again. We drank rum out of coconuts while floating in the tepid June Pacific off the coast of Mexico. Everything I tasted that month in Guadalajara had a flavor like molasses, even the Coronas, a sour, burnt sugar taste that made the glands under my jaw shriek. Rosy mangoes dropped off the trees into the streets and just bled sticky juice when bitten into. I hated the flies. I hated the way people treated dogs and the stinking cauldrons of boiling oil lining the sidewalk at Sunday bazaars. I loved Armando's two-toned whistle and Emilia's Spanish eyes and Bettie's doll-like children. It seems odd that they will live their lives through in that two-story concrete bungalow painted in pastels, and I will never see them again. I can't even remember the baby's name.
But I have a new and beautiful thing to wonder about, and I am as good at waiting as I am at many other things. I used to forget the line in Uninvited where Alanis claims that, "like any hot-blooded woman, I have simply wanted an object to crave." Amusing how simple things become when you box them up in a song, square and safe, and how often a song changes meaning in a flash, like magic.
I'm an imp this midnight, slightly wicked and willing to wish. I'm lazy tonight, putting things off knowing that this week will be a mad rush and I will perform humble miracles. A conscious procrastination, from the Latin procrastinatio, formed from the verb procrastinare "to put off for tomorrow," from pro-, "forward" and crastinus, "of tomorrow," from cras, "tomorrow." All I care is that it starts with pro. Like protean, which I am.
I want to go to Disneyland.
I had a weird dizzy spell this evening for an hour or two, quite like Morgan's episode yesterday. A not-quite-right, world-is-spinning feeling, like I had too much potent tequila in Tepic, Nayarit again. We drank rum out of coconuts while floating in the tepid June Pacific off the coast of Mexico. Everything I tasted that month in Guadalajara had a flavor like molasses, even the Coronas, a sour, burnt sugar taste that made the glands under my jaw shriek. Rosy mangoes dropped off the trees into the streets and just bled sticky juice when bitten into. I hated the flies. I hated the way people treated dogs and the stinking cauldrons of boiling oil lining the sidewalk at Sunday bazaars. I loved Armando's two-toned whistle and Emilia's Spanish eyes and Bettie's doll-like children. It seems odd that they will live their lives through in that two-story concrete bungalow painted in pastels, and I will never see them again. I can't even remember the baby's name.
But I have a new and beautiful thing to wonder about, and I am as good at waiting as I am at many other things. I used to forget the line in Uninvited where Alanis claims that, "like any hot-blooded woman, I have simply wanted an object to crave." Amusing how simple things become when you box them up in a song, square and safe, and how often a song changes meaning in a flash, like magic.
I'm an imp this midnight, slightly wicked and willing to wish. I'm lazy tonight, putting things off knowing that this week will be a mad rush and I will perform humble miracles. A conscious procrastination, from the Latin procrastinatio, formed from the verb procrastinare "to put off for tomorrow," from pro-, "forward" and crastinus, "of tomorrow," from cras, "tomorrow." All I care is that it starts with pro. Like protean, which I am.
I want to go to Disneyland.
posted by A at
12:14 AM
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