Monday, September 24, 2012

Flights of Fancy and Their Trajectories

Sarge is back at work and I've laundry in a pile for folding so I cranked up this offering (skip to 1hr:10m) as I started all the drudgery.

I used to have a copy of that Rimsky-Korsakov piece when I was about 26 years old. I played it over and over, having not much else to entertain me at the time. I had books, a Walkman, and a pretty sad record player. But they sufficed. More than...

I had almost forgotten the piece - all of its many fragments - but it all came back in a rush of recognition. Yes, yes - that sweet, melancholy violin at the end..."once upon a time when we all lived in the forest"...tales and tales.

The dishwasher makes its energetic racket, started only after the end of that piece, a kind of false busy-ness because it works like a union member. Which is just enough to not be tossed to the street. The washing machine, bless its pricey courtesan-like ass, works like a champ. Unfortunately, it just means there is more folding coming my way when its friend releases the warm result of the efforts of my evening. This is what I do...this is the life, today. And the echoes of 20 years gone astounds me.

If you'd asked me, this would have been the last place I'd have thought I'd be. The first? An early grave. After all, I used to dance around it all tra la la...which seems fun until Death comes and looks at you. A more sedate mien seemed...reasonable...at the time. And so it has been to this day.

But I get touchy with all the pressure. Yes, yes - something else to clean. Yes, yes - another person who make 6 figures and cannot comprehend an Outlook meeting request. (Seriously, people - WTF?) This is my life. But I think it is time to edit it a bit. The compound bow needs to go to the shop to set that pull down to something closer to reasonable. And the video here ought to help tighten up a knowledge base that is lacking in detail. Too, I may be under the "first 200 orders" count and get the offered 10% discount off their Precision Rifle course. It may not seem like much against that grand total but their training is highly respected. I would not mind taking it one day.

Such things are all I have time to consider these days. Too much to do and not enough hours in the day...and not enough patience to see it all through, anyway. I knew things would be more difficult back when the music played in that small apartment. I knew the future wouldn't bring only easy days. But I did not expect all this...at least I've no children to squire through the days. What a terror that would be...how to combat the constant flood of whoredom and lying liars? Sad, yes, to have no one after to bear my eyes or his high cheekbones. But perhaps it was a gentler gift, that denial.

Remind me of that now and then, eh? Those gifts of wishes denied?

4 comments:

Brigid said...

But perhaps it was a gentler gift, that denial.

You know exactly what to say on quiet mornings, when ghosts still flit around the corners of my mind, hands raw from surgical like scrubbing.

It's been a week, but I have 3 days off and my heart is enroute to offer a safe shadow to tuck myself into. The best of unions often bear no fruit, by choice or chance, yet what they form together is beyond redemption.

LauraB said...

Damn, girl - a paragraph and you manage to sum up an entire blog. :)

I hope your 3 days are full of bliss. Enjoy them...and maybe you'll hear a violin is the soft twilight...

Six said...

If all our wishes and prayers were answered what a dreary existence it would be. To strive and endure, that is the spice of life. When it is finished it isn't our accomplishments that will mark us but the strength of our character.

LauraB said...

So true, Six...damned true...