Dragging myself out of bed this morning, I discovered pain whenever I stepped. Following the sage advice of the doctor who, upon learning that his patient hurt everywhere he touched, wisely suggested that the patients finger was broken, I discovered that I had splinters in both feet. I recall getting them. I had forgotten my sandals last night and walked from my car to the volleyball court through a grassy area full of pine needles. I am surprised that I didn't feel anything while I played barefoot in the sand all night long, nor did I feel anything at home that night while I made dinner and moved through the house. So that is how I found myself in a brightly lit bathroom, groggy, hair askew, in some sort of weird lotus position on the toilet (the only seat in the room) wielding a tweezer. With some effort, I cleared my feet of debris. I showered off the dirt of yesterday, washed and conditioned my hair (now well down to my lower back), shaved, brushed, and clipped my fingernails. You would think that I was ready to take on the brand day, but all I want to do is crawl back into bed and read. I'm currently working though "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance." I'm only a 86 pages into the book, and I am confused. The narrator, who you would like the think of as the protagonist, seems to me more the opposite. This man is a monster. Perhaps that is how is was meant to be. Perhaps this is illusion.
A friend of mine discovered that her current beau is not to be. She sent me a terrific story that I wish I could reproduce here. In trying to come up with a typical "Gosh, that sucks" type of email reply (and email surely is a poor substitute for alcohol and a hug), I found myself composing prose (inspired by her theme, and perhaps, a blues song). I can share that here, at least.
Between monsoons this weekend, I did get to make good on my promise to take the kids at the club tubing. One of them had never done it before (I guess his parents were always sort of iffy on the safety of the entire process). I had planned to just take 2 of them, but one had guests, so I invited them out, as well. Needless to say, all 6 of them had a good time (5 of the 6 got flung a few times). I did do some dancing, but the best part of the weekend was taking the boat out in the dark of night to see the fires going around the edge of the lake. There was no moon, for the clouds, but there were some fireworks above the trees that made up for it.
The big news is that Rush is heading back into the studio. And Geddy Lee has a solo record coming out in October. Alex writing the theme music to a new Gene Roddenberry series called Andromeda. Poor Alex must be bored to tears. You can hear the music here. They claim they he used something like 20,000 overdubs in his home studio to get the sounds. Well, whatever. I'm waiting for the album.
Does anyone use the word album anymore? Why do I still do it?
I thought that I would post a small poem I wrote a month or two ago, during the heady hot days of summer. Hah! I crack myself up. We didn't actually have an hazy, hot days this year. It's getting pretty cold out. There goes indian summer. Snow, next.
