My Desk Was Cleaner Yesterday

The weather keep promising and warning of showers--maybe strong storms--in the very near future. This is mostly hype; however, as we have a dog who refuses to go outside if its raining and will sit on top of you and shiver when it thunders, I pay more attention to the forecast than otherwise. Which means that I've been a little on edge as summer creeps in and the humidity zooms and the little thunderstorm icons start to march across the screen...but nothing materializes. In addition, the Jack to my Sally got his second shot yesterday and, again, rumors of a few bad days following the second shot had us laying in the soup (for him) and pizza (for me) and waiting.

The tension!!

So, of course, something needed to be straightened. It started out as organizing writing projects so that the notebooks for the most current projects were close to hand and then turned into rearranging the closet and progressed to updating the TBR shelf because, let's face it, as soon as I put something on there I promptly decide NEVER EVER to read it. Okay, brain, thanks for that.

Today my desk bears the evidence that I started...well, repopulating it with tiny notebooks with faces, stuffed dragons, and an octopus that looks like it's going into construction. I'm going to try getting the writing trolley arranged today. Does the writing trolley need a post? Would it help me arrange it? (yes. it will get a post.)

What about the writing? Well...I do have a notebook pulled out so I may have my project for the rest of this month sorted. We'll see.

Hope you're have a good week and the storms give you a miss!

-- Chrissa

Comments

Treacle Season

Sharing with The Sunday Muse #190 , hosted this week by Carrie. Keaton was great in that show—the one with wings— Where he was constantly a [man]child on a ledge dreaming an angel who became a superhero. She was a sarcastic (fake?) angel—it was the 80s— But always good, on time, her lessons easy, Easy as it would have been for him to fall. The metaphor so obvious...but I didn't get it. Nor the easy and obvious good. (/s) I watch the TV movie every other December Remembering believing in easy And crushing on this character, that city... Angels should be sweet, sarcastic figures, knowing (like nurses and social workers) we prefer Sleeping on the ledge, reckless to call for "heroes." To clear up any confusion: there is no Michael Keaton movie we watch every holiday season. Although, if there were...I'd probably watch it. -- Chrissa

Turn Away

Sharing with The Sunday Muse , for #193. Turn away, like the moon, listening... Listening to the planet that rumbles with a hundred million slaps. All the feet, all the rockets, all the pistons in the cars on the asphalt over the chasm where the veins run deep, blue in sunlight, black at night. Running over the chasm. Once or twice they ran to you. Once or twice they ran by. Greetings and salutations. The sky is an entertaining shade of concrete yellow as the rain promised earlier in the week makes good on its arrival. It's a disturbing bright sallow sky, the kind of sky that puts you in mind of old movies and degraded film stock and the pops and crackles incidental to the main story. Several years ago I made a resolution to journal more and last year I came across a video that suggested I actually re-read those journals, at least those of the previous year, at the beginning of each new year. Technically, I have kept the journal resolution, making daily notes in the margins of

Out of the Den

For the Sunday Muse, #166. Deep in the rain, stand and drink. Water that rises carries the need, Remember the trail where it sinks; Deep in the rain, stand and drink. There is a rumble outside as I write. Arthur has come to check on me and has curled up beneath the desk--once James settles down, he'll probably find a more comfortable place to snooze or shiver through the rain. I am, this week, angry. You'd think a wolf would be a goad for finding words for it; not yet. I didn't expect to reemerge and be angry. I expected tears, the occasional panic attack, relief. Instead I am furious and couldn't say why. -- Chrissa

A Weed on The Curb

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