Blah in Packrat

I’m just trying to get through the days; I have no motivation. Not at work, not at home. I really think it’s the weather; I’m not the only one with glassy eyes and slow movements. I need a vacation in a location where I can breathe.

I’ve been mentally by the ocean, feeling the breezes, hearing the waves, songs about the sea playing in my head. It’s almost like I’ve been in two places at the same time.

…I also just need time. I want to write poetry again, but when the muse stirs I always have something that needs to be done first and then I don’t get to it. My mind is blank; I want to write and then have nothing to say.

…Except that I love my niece and find her endlessly fascinating. Babies used to bore me after a little while, but everything Baby does is amazing. I hover over her to make her smile, and when she does - well, there should be something in place to sop me up off the floor after I melt.

…I’m looking forward to this weekend. A friend of mine and I are going to another tribe’s pow wow; it’s the tribe of a friend of ours from out of state; in my OD I called him Mr. Smith. We haven’t seen him in years, and this time he specifically asked to see us. I texted him yesterday with the question: where do we need to park to hit the red carpet he’s rolling out for us?

He said the paparazzi would be waiting. I griped, “Does that mean I have to brush my hair and wear something halfway decent?” He replied, “Why start now?” He knows me well!

…S couldn’t make it to the play. That disappointed me, because I would have enjoyed his company; he had told me he rearranged his schedule and could make it. He had an out of town meeting to go to. As it turns out, when he tried to change the meeting date, it didn’t work out. I took myself on a date, treating myself to dinner first, ending up at the theater an hour ahead of time.

To kill time, I called the Wordsmith, who wished he could be here to see the play with me, and I wished he could, too. I like sharing things that mean something to me with someone who means something to me. Both S and the Wordsmith are familiar with Mark Twain, not just his works but his life as well.

The Wordsmith cooed in a breathy, dramatic tone, “I’m so glad you called! It’s so good to hear your voice!”

Nice to hear, but that had me rolling my eyes a few seconds later. He never calls me; I’m important to him, I feel, only if I’m in his presence, although he talks about me frequently. This isn’t a new thing, but he hints so much at “more”, especially since he retired; he’s been far more candid. That’s why it bothers me. I have other friends whom I contact when I’m coming to their area, and if I’m the one who initiates contact then I’m in control; no one is bothering the hermit I am and am becoming (I turn off my cell phone and tend not to answer the landline; I used to turn my landline off when I was younger).

He’s far away, and that won’t change.

…Another friend took me to the boyhood home of Mark Twain, so I called him up because, I told him, he was rolling around in my head. I was shocked to find that he’s now a widower!

I thought he rushed into the relationship anyway; his wife had been gone only five months before he “fell in love” again. My culture also is a factor in what I think about this; I realize my culture isn’t his, but he still rushed into it, I thought.

His wife died only six weeks ago, and he’s already “seeing someone steadily” and listed his status on Facebook as “in a relationship”!

Bluebeard pops to mind, although he’s not murdering his wives; they had illnesses. It’s just the fact of so many.

None of my business. None of my business.

…I have the eebie-jeebies now when I go home. A long snake left his skin as a calling card right by the house, so we see the skin, but where’s the snake?! The house has a brick exterior, and this isn’t the first time a snake has littered, leaving his discarded skin; it’s not even the first time one has been left in that spot.

I know they’re around and a part of nature; they do good things - I just don’t want to see the signs of their being around, and I don’t want to see them doing their good works!

I also have dogs, but any snake that shows up in the yard has to be on a suicide mission because they like to trample, chew, and destroy. They’re still puppies (yes, I kept all of them). I’ve found the carcasses of grass snakes and broken my puppies’ hearts when, after I scream, I toss them out of the yard. Sometimes they catch on a branch where my puppies can stare mournfully at their former plaything until, shuddering, I have to knock it to the ground or out in the pasture.

And seeing any evidence of snakes is rare; it’s been years since I’ve seen a snake, its skin, or its carcass, but any time I see anything snake related is too much too soon!!!

I say that, but I keep looking at the skin when I’m outside. Tossing it means I’d have to touch it (even if no part of me touches any part of it; even using a shovel means I’d have to go near it), and I’m not up to that yet!!!

…The day’s end draws near. I have to look over the newspaper pages with my articles, so I’ll at least get something productive done today!

Last updated October 01, 2014