Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Feign Boredom

I am so tired. It is 9pm but deep in my bones I could swear it is actually midnight (note: Marrow is clearly not an accurate keeper of time. Defer to sundials when in doubt. When it's dark, consult the moon's craters. When it's dark and cloudy just ask the soil.). The soles of my feet are sore from being the base of my pillar all day. I had a dream on the way home (presumably somewhere between Coronado Island and Imperial Beach) that I was being given an expert foot-massage. I am afraid of ghosts, but I think I'd be ok with having a ghost here if it would give me supernaturally great foot rubs while I hovered between sleep and unsleep. I suppose a boyfriend might be a more practical tool for such a thing, but there is far more drawback for me with the latter. Funny that I could possess a greater aversion to the concept of boyfriend than ghost....

In other news, I will be moving out as soon as a reasonably priced residency becomes available. This will save me a lot of sanity and the people I'm going to move in with are the nice creative types, one of whom is my wonderful goddaughter. Yet ever since this was decided to happen, I have been having a hard time sleeping. I think the amount of stress that permeates this frequently is healthy only for bona fide gypsies and migratory birds.

Also: as I passed by The Salvation Army on my way home tonight--the night dark and crowded round the illuminated windows full of racks (a labyrinth of value)--I pondered what it would be like to work there, as opposed to my current working status (unemployed). "It would be like dealing with the molted skins of past lives of myriad strangers," I thought. And isn't it really so: all those rejected shirts and pants and shoes, once held so close to the pumping circulating blood of our lives, once deemed part of our persona, at some point shed like a skin that no longer could contain us properly.... and how peculiar to think that we, as a species, delight in adopting the molted parts of others.... (are we not hermit crabs? we are devo...).

It's time to let things go. I have a night to relax into.