Today is a rare day off; I gave it to myself. The changing weather has wreaked its wrath on my throat and I have been squeaking and croaking all week long, much to everyone's uncomfortable sympathy. Since there is no cure for the common cold, I decided to use this day as an excuse to lounge around the house, make friends with it again, and hopefully, the lengthening darknesses and pale, cold days with their warm blood seeped out will be easier to wait out till the sun returns next year.
To the same end, today, I moved into my room on the west top of my house. However, I have no furniture other than a bed and I cannot decide the configuration that would give comfort and help me own the space between the walls. I also wish I knew what I needed. I try to visualize some chests and tables around the room but I get exhausted at the thought.
Probably, all I should do today is nothing. After all, the accident report for a fender bender I was subjected to, won't be ready for another week; everyone else is at work; all my scrabble games have been addressed; the most urgent grading has been squared away; all care packages have been mailed and received; and the dishwasher is done. I look at the napping cats, feel the cold breeze, and a familiar somnolence steals over me so I can no longer tell the difference between sleeping and waking.
I mark today as the day when nothing shall happen. Today shall be remembered as the most forgettable of days. I shall not chase each thought that begins, to its coherent completion; I shall gather scraps of images, remembered moments, imagined times, as though for a new quilt whose finished structure I cannot imagine.
If my parents were here, they would shake their heads in helpless exasperation at my insistence of wasting my precious day, a day on which all my limbs work and my mind still retains is power. However, I would contend that it is lost scraps like today that make the most colorful of quilts, and nothing warms a pale, cold day like a colorful quilt.
It has been over a year since the unforgettable day on which my house burned away, leaving behind just ashes and memories. It has been almost two decades since the memorable day on which I held my brand new daughter in my arms, and she has flown off to her future as well. The list could go on, but for every unforgettable day, there must have been about fifty forgettable days. I can't say for sure, since, of course, I have forgotten them.
This post goes out as a paean to all that is forgettable, that colors our everyday, that warms us, holds us upright, and gives a richness to all that we cannot forget.
To the same end, today, I moved into my room on the west top of my house. However, I have no furniture other than a bed and I cannot decide the configuration that would give comfort and help me own the space between the walls. I also wish I knew what I needed. I try to visualize some chests and tables around the room but I get exhausted at the thought.
Probably, all I should do today is nothing. After all, the accident report for a fender bender I was subjected to, won't be ready for another week; everyone else is at work; all my scrabble games have been addressed; the most urgent grading has been squared away; all care packages have been mailed and received; and the dishwasher is done. I look at the napping cats, feel the cold breeze, and a familiar somnolence steals over me so I can no longer tell the difference between sleeping and waking.
I mark today as the day when nothing shall happen. Today shall be remembered as the most forgettable of days. I shall not chase each thought that begins, to its coherent completion; I shall gather scraps of images, remembered moments, imagined times, as though for a new quilt whose finished structure I cannot imagine.
If my parents were here, they would shake their heads in helpless exasperation at my insistence of wasting my precious day, a day on which all my limbs work and my mind still retains is power. However, I would contend that it is lost scraps like today that make the most colorful of quilts, and nothing warms a pale, cold day like a colorful quilt.
It has been over a year since the unforgettable day on which my house burned away, leaving behind just ashes and memories. It has been almost two decades since the memorable day on which I held my brand new daughter in my arms, and she has flown off to her future as well. The list could go on, but for every unforgettable day, there must have been about fifty forgettable days. I can't say for sure, since, of course, I have forgotten them.
This post goes out as a paean to all that is forgettable, that colors our everyday, that warms us, holds us upright, and gives a richness to all that we cannot forget.
