Lazy after a long day at work...cut-and-pasting something that I wrote a few weeks ago (when, yes, it was warm enough to have the windows open!)
Just playing with words, here, but I had a good time doing so.
When I went outside for a cigarette, it was so quiet that I could hear a plastic bag caught and fluttering in the chain-link fence across the street.
Across the street is a huge empty concrete expanse that a friend once told me used to be a factory until it was torn down. Beyond that, the river, and beyond that - the skyline. That gorgeous unmistakable glittering city skyline. I stared at it close up today, in the grey light that presages a storm, looking at the only building to survive the Chicago Fire through a haze of tears as Portishead echoed in my ears and I waited for B. to pick me up. I was stripped bare at that moment, standing on a city streetcorner, nothing between me and the world.
Nothing between me and the world and I feel like hiding behind my hair, something I haven't done in a long while. All summer I wore it twisted and pinned up, tendrils blowing and the whole thing tumbling down in a salty wavy curtain when undone. It's long, getting longer, I want it down to my elbows again, down to my waist. Though there's a lot of it, each individual strand is fine and it likes to work itself into intricate knots and tangles. It hurts to brush and is a liability in warm and/or windy weather (this week has been both.) But it's beautiful, masses of silken strands making a thick shimmering rope. I have few really good features, but I think that my hair is one of them.
My hair is one of them - the others, my eyes - large, lovely, an interesting hazel-green color that no-one else in my family possesses. They would be perfect if they were a few shades lighter. I am attuned to color as only someone who grew up with printing can be, and I know this. My mouth is pretty, cruel, sad by turns. My lips are lush and I bite them a lot, especially when I am thinking hard. Think of it as my very own brow-wrinkle. I've been doing a lot of thinking these days.
A lot of thinking these days, and it always brings me back to these nights - windows open if weather permits, a bottle of wine, a good book, and sweetly scented smoke rising into the porch light. Sometimes I even sit down and write. Sometimes it just spills out of me like this. And now I'm going outside again, where it might be so quiet that I could hear a plastic bag caught and fluttering in the chain-link fence across the street.
Just playing with words, here, but I had a good time doing so.
When I went outside for a cigarette, it was so quiet that I could hear a plastic bag caught and fluttering in the chain-link fence across the street.
Across the street is a huge empty concrete expanse that a friend once told me used to be a factory until it was torn down. Beyond that, the river, and beyond that - the skyline. That gorgeous unmistakable glittering city skyline. I stared at it close up today, in the grey light that presages a storm, looking at the only building to survive the Chicago Fire through a haze of tears as Portishead echoed in my ears and I waited for B. to pick me up. I was stripped bare at that moment, standing on a city streetcorner, nothing between me and the world.
Nothing between me and the world and I feel like hiding behind my hair, something I haven't done in a long while. All summer I wore it twisted and pinned up, tendrils blowing and the whole thing tumbling down in a salty wavy curtain when undone. It's long, getting longer, I want it down to my elbows again, down to my waist. Though there's a lot of it, each individual strand is fine and it likes to work itself into intricate knots and tangles. It hurts to brush and is a liability in warm and/or windy weather (this week has been both.) But it's beautiful, masses of silken strands making a thick shimmering rope. I have few really good features, but I think that my hair is one of them.
My hair is one of them - the others, my eyes - large, lovely, an interesting hazel-green color that no-one else in my family possesses. They would be perfect if they were a few shades lighter. I am attuned to color as only someone who grew up with printing can be, and I know this. My mouth is pretty, cruel, sad by turns. My lips are lush and I bite them a lot, especially when I am thinking hard. Think of it as my very own brow-wrinkle. I've been doing a lot of thinking these days.
A lot of thinking these days, and it always brings me back to these nights - windows open if weather permits, a bottle of wine, a good book, and sweetly scented smoke rising into the porch light. Sometimes I even sit down and write. Sometimes it just spills out of me like this. And now I'm going outside again, where it might be so quiet that I could hear a plastic bag caught and fluttering in the chain-link fence across the street.
Thanks for your wishes. Hopefully, I'm getting over-worried and things are actually okay.