November 28, 2012

I’m sitting at Southeast Grind admiring the neon. It’s very complimentary to the atmosphere. I have been here almost three hours, eaten little for the day, and contemplated how great it would be if my bed would fly like Eglantine Price’s. I rolled in bed excruciatingly late today, not because I was tired persay, just because I was comfortable. I haven’t felt that way in such a long time! I figured that excused the numbers on the clock and was a moment to be relished, rather than frowned upon.

Life has been, dare I say, excellent.

Such a pleasant change from the last year or so. I’m quite content for once, though internally I still struggle with the desire and motivation to work. (By work, I mean write things that aren’t journal related, or do some more printmaking.)

It’s become that time of year that I’ve grown confused with over the past few seasons. Winter used to keep me company. I liked wrapping myself up in the idea of cold rainy-ness, perpetual Miles Davis Sundays, and the comfort that should I be feeling like an utter train wreck, the weather didn’t merit uninvited guilt. The sun gives a parting farewell much earlier which is a real downer for me these days. I miss lounging around until late in the afternoon, welcomed by a warm evening breeze that didn’t require a sweater and a litany of expletives. I don’t know. I guess fickleness has seeped deep into my bones, though, I can’t really decide if that’s the case either. Ha.

I feel like these three paragraphs and change have been an intro for something I’m not quite sure how to talk about, so I suppose I’ll just write it as it happened:

The other day, it was pouring down rain. After I met with Andy for coffee. I biked home, and got relatively soaked. When I walked into my mother’s house, intending to eat some delicious left-over pie, the radio was on, and Christmas Time Is Here was playing. I stood infront of our fireplace, and just listened to it. Awhile ago, someone sang this to me while I was dreaming. It was one of the loveliest moments of my life.

I thought of that, and my wet pants, and how lucky I was to have such wonderful friends, and how much I missed this singing person, who I’d never even met; and everything just felt really nice. I thought about Mrs. Imaginary and I holding hands, she didn’t even have to sing this time; I just knew she was there.


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