Sometimes dancing in the kitchen after we’ve put the girls to bed makes my body sore in the morning. #blissproblems.
Poemies, I want more vacation. Our lives are BUSY. Quite a Monday, it was. Despite our best efforts and intentions, we were five minutes late for work. The work was good, though. I actually missed those strange lovelies. Most of them. Or various weirdo aspects of each of them. That is more accurate. Still, though. I want weeks upon weeks. I am a teacher’s kid. A little spoiled in that regard, and a lot spoiled in love.
My HP stopped shaving during break week. He’s HP Furry. Some friend-colleague tomorrow call him that on Wednesday, if you please. He says he’s beginning “The Decade of the Beard” early. It was supposed to start at 40.
Anyhow, his beard, by powers I can’t articulate, got me to thinking about all the ways my brain grows stories throughout the day. I’m going to list that, make it a poem, sit for a minute on the couch with HPBeardman, and go to bed.
Wait till it Grows
The first seed moment is morning, when I put the singsong on over my cranky, and pretend that I know what I’m doing. The second is the mirror, where I use under-eye cover-up to cover up the poems. Earrings or scarf, the third story in a day of stories, one look that carries me through to the fourth: “look at me in my costume of the day”, and allows me to confront the nightmare-spinners, big spiders of car accidents, school shootings, and lightening illnesses. Every web grows ’till the end on of the day, expanding in parallel lines and joined at right angles. The silk last until past bedtime, threading through story-time, pretty sounds time, through story and bedtime, pretty story-time-words time, through poem time, drowning beats and sweet kisses time. The first of creation is actually the dawn, when I pretend it isn’t happening, that I don’t see the daylight through curtainless windows, when I pretend to doze, and my mind wanders, both seeking and finding your face scrubby in the meantime.
See? I’m learning to articulate this process. That is, in itself a process. It’s a learning within a lesson. It is just like The Big Egg. I can’t link to it, because this brainbox is old and lame and the internet is full of rules, but it is worth searching out. Happy Tuesday. I hug you.