Thursday, May 12, 2011
I kept waking up overnight, feeling anxious in a freeform way, I couldn't settle down. I worry about our country, where it's going - the excesses of an "ism," this time, untrammeled capitalism - it's just too much with the top one percent getting it all, mining the planet (leading to its environmental destruction) rather than cultivating it, causing so much misery, making things - hard as they are - all the harder for everyone else, greed spawning slavery.
Anyway, my restless mind would touch on that, and I'd roll over and adjust the pillow, and flail sleepily about for other topics. I kept trying to settle down simply with thoughts of you, imagining lying next to you. I couldn't quite decide where though. In the space of a minute I had us camping beneath the stars in pristine woods somewhere (the Adirondacks? oh but acid rain! are such woods becoming scarcer? I fretted), at first outside, and then I thought, no we must be in a tent, against bears, and then - well that's a nice romantic thought but a bit of a pain in the morning, getting up from hard ground and try to scrounge for coffee & no hot water. A moment later we were ensconced in each other's arms beneath gossamer eiderdowns in the rosy lamplight of the Slaviansky Bazaar.
Actually, I think I can trace the causes of my sudden spike in anxiety, which included my computer acting up just as I was trying to blog. I was becoming agitated with the server connections timing out, even as I was trying to maintain a different mood, one of composure - to compose. I complained to D, and he was far from soothing - had he been I might have calmed right down - instead we had an argument.
Mingled with all that, I read a dispiriting article about the state of affairs in G.B. (linked to here, via a similarly themed article, here), where the culture is going, and it resonated all too well, with how things are going here. It's always hard for artistic types, and I don't have an entrepreneurial ounce in me. How could I sell what I write? Of course I have to give it away - freely, to you. Anyway, sometimes I toy with the idea of sewing aprons & marketing them online - but do I really want to sew aprons? Or outsource the sewing & become Queen of the High-End Apron? Oh my love, what would E.D. do in this economy? I think she'd have a very hard time. Edna St. Vincent Millay would do just fine though, I think, she was quite the natural self-promoter, and I say this with admiration - it's a very useful attribute, particularly these days and as the economy goes forward. D's acquainted with a young woman, a talented designer who was laid off quite a while ago now, she's in her early forties, trying to start anew from scratch, crashing on other people's couches, cobbling together freelance gigs that don't pay very well (much less than what she used to make), trying at the same time to start her own line & market her creations on a website. I can't imagine having that kind of stamina. I never had it. I always needed the security of salaried jobs, as much as I despised them. It was just easier to try to fit into a groove so that my mind - the "kernel of my life" - could be elsewhere.
But darling, actually I have a very good bit of news - the speeding ticket got thrown out, the attorney was able to persuade the court that I have had a spotless record, and the whole matter is dropped as long as there is no other incident for the next six months. So I'm very, very relieved in one sense - though there's a bit of vestigial anxiety associated with having dodged the bullet. But really, it's all good, I'm very happy that we won't have to shell out for a hefty fine. I've been incredibly mindful of my driving these days - so: lesson learned.
Darling, darling, I hope all is well where you are. Let me set to moving, get some housework done. I was thinking about how long it's been since I felt your arms around me, one Sunday. And now, figuratively speaking, it's maybe only the late Tuesday afternoon, aswim in midweek, before the following Sunday when I might reach the other shore & kiss your cheek again.
Is that a mixed metaphor? Probably. Many, many kisses darling - a whole mix of them all over, causing you shivers of delight, dewy spritzes against your soft smooth skin. XOXO