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Showing posts with label ants in pants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ants in pants. Show all posts

clean desk

| On
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
between the boards of the gilkey bridge
Today I cleaned off my desk - I mean REALLY cleaned it off - removed everything and scrubbed it. Ahhh - so much better now. I've been having a few days of jumpy fidgety antsy pants agitation, which I hate. The clean desk somehow helps channel the ants or at least distract me for a while. Some people can get a lot done under those conditions, but not me - mostly I hop around and fuss and fret a lot, which ARGH. Maybe it's the hopping that makes it worse - a certain amount of fussing and fretting is normal under even my happiest, most productive circumstances.

down to the river
(photos are from covered bridge tour - these are looking down from the roadway to the river.)

POSSIBLE CAUSES:
1) vacation buzz has left the building! (probably true. I've lost that loving feeling and it's gone, gone, gone woah-oh-oh. This coincided with returning to work, which is strange because I love my job mostly.)

2) pre-birthday freakout: …maybe. I'm feeling strangely grinchy about it this year - not because I'm SO OLD (although I am), but because it doesn't even feel like summer, not even a little bit - as I write this the temperature is in the 50s and I'm wearing layers. There are still a couple of weeks for this to turn around, though. Let's assume it's the weather and not me in deep denial about my ancient decreptitude and general lack of achievement, okay?

3) I'm not doing things I know I need/want to do. (what are the odds that this is it? Ha ha. shut up.)

I could probably make a list of sixty things, which would get sillier and sillier (#38 vendetta against a certain word that shall remain nameless) but might also have little nuggets of no-shit-sherlock obviousness (#52 quit drinking caffeine after 10pm). WHO KNOWS? It is a mystery of the brain and biochemistry and the universe.

POSSIBLE CURES:

1) the sun. You don't know what you've got till it's gone! We're having the weather in Portland that people (you know "PEOPLE") assume we have all year long. It does rain a lot, but usually not during summer - even in the winter there's the odd glorious sunny day that makes a proper balance for the usual gloom. My gloom balance is off. Fresno helped, but come on. Fortunately, all I have to do to get to the sun here at home is drive east for a bit. Once you're over the mountain, you're pretty much out of the cloud blanketed rain valley.

2) measurable progress. I've got a lot of open projects right now: stories, photos, sewing, needlecraft, gardening. Normally, this is a good way to work for me - I can go from one to another and keep working at them all. HOWEVER, lately some projects get all the attention and others are in a place called Permanent Later. Permanent Later is NOT GOOD.

3) plan a vacation. I just got back from one, but it was short and not really that far away.

Of course it's possible that there's just no cure for the summertime blues. Youtube research led me to T. Rex at Wembley in 1972. I think the fringe cape at the very beginning of this video just might cure the summertime blues or any number of problems caused by jumpy fidgety anty pants agitation. Fringe capes and puffy lavender satin jackets for all those afflicted!

bedtime story

| On
Saturday, January 10, 2009
pointing tree
Today was weird. Not full on "some guy who thinks he's Tony Danza is singing Phantom of the Opera on the lawn" weird, but everything is a half turn wrong all day weird. Itchy ants in the pants followed by clammy hands on the heart followed by space madness. (oh, fine! no space madness.) If I started listing all the instances of weirdness, I would type all night and into tomorrow. At that point delirium would set in and it would turn into that first kind of weird (Tony Danza weird), which is not what I'm hoping for on a Saturday. I'm hoping for a good night's sleep followed by either a garden variety good day, or maybe a spectacular day. I'm not picky about which, I swear.

ANYWAY. I just got a Charles Simic collection from the library (1963-1983) and was thinking that I should maybe put a poem in for today's post since I had intended to do something else, but the day went weird so I didn't, and I don't really want to leave it with some imaginary deranged person singing show tunes on the lawn, so here is a poem that is a) short and b) appropriately titled. (also c: awesome.)

BEDTIME STORY

When a tree falls in a forest
And there's no one around
To hear the sound, the poor owls
Have to do all the thinking.

They think so hard they fall off
Their perch and are eaten by ants,
Who, as you already know, all look like
Little Black Riding Hoods.

-- Charles Simic