I don’t think I belong to the cool kids club anymore…not that I ever really did. Or maybe I just don’t want to belong. Or maybe I’ve found a BETTER cool kids club, right here. Yeah, that’s it.
As much as I love my job, man, is it kicking my ass. I feel I could work about a week’s extra worth of days and still not have cleared all the miscellaneous projects off my to-do list. I am so tired each day from the total concentration I’m exerting for 8 hours, that I feel stretched and beaten with a stick, and I’m not saying any of this in a bad way. It really brings home to me what a difference my prior job was like. I was such a slacker then! It’s a little disconcerting, though, to find myself, more and more, doing the happy dance when I have no plans of an evening, when I can relax into a vegetative state, or read, or catch up on LJ (you all write too much) or be silent in the same room as my children so that they forget I’m there and lose their self-consciousness. They’re very different when they’re not playing to an audience. Hey! Me, too. 😛
The equinox draws ever nearer, even here in winter-holdout Sweden. Snow scabs lie tattered and ragged on slopes and in ditches. Floodwater warning signs are popping up everywhere, a sure sign of spring.The Kävlinge river has burst its boundaries and run rampant around Flyinge Kungsgård. Along one gravel country road, small creeks were pouring perpendicular across the roadway, shoving stones out of sideways ruts. The 6-foot deep ditch running parallel to the road was brimful of silvergrey rushing water, just skimming the undersurface of the tiny stone causeways along it. The ancient row of polled willows that are leaning at crazy angles, pushed by years of Scanian wind and watermelt, seem to be bending thirstily to the water; one of them had obviously given up the struggle to stay upright and had launched itself into the drink.
I can’t seem to find a narrative thread.
Like that’s news.
This is one of my favorite songs of all time, this PP&M classic that I’m listening to. I sing it a lot. My dad loved Peter, Paul & Mary, and lived down the hall from Paul (or was it Peter? No, it was Paul. I think.) when he was at Michigan State. My dad played guitar, and banjo, and loved to sing, too. I grew up listening to them, along with other folk singers, and I have those shiny vinyl memories, still in their dust jackets, sitting silent on the shelf, since I’ve long since replaced them with CDs. Listening to PP&M’s lyrics as a child and a teenager helped form some of my strongest personal philosophies: I can see in myself wings as I feel them, If you see something else, keep your thoughts to yourself, I’ll fly free then!
Cracking Me Up: Dixie Cups & Personal Deposits