tap, tap, tap.

In four days, I was able to finish three articles.

The first one was a writing assignment so unceremoniously dumped on to my lap and for which I made a big, grumbling fuss about, one-hour deadline, and all, but oh, the satisfaction at having won against the clock was almost as sweet as the nod of satisfaction from he-who-gave-me-the-task.

I had a day each to finish the other two, but, of course, me being the way I am, I waited until the last three hours to work on both, and couldn't believe how great a master pressure can be, for I managed to alt-tab, type, pause, type, alt-tab (repeat X number of times) between the two word files, and come up with, I should say, still decent write-ups. I enjoyed writing the profile most. People are an interesting subject to study, and tap the letters on one's keyboard for.

I'm making lots of progress with the novel I'm reading, too, so this should be a good weekend.

But now, for some shut-eye. I hope to still be in a reading mood when I wake up.

Don't look for coherence here.

                                           

-mine, I call it, because
these day-hammered fields

of dazzled horizontals
undulate, summers,
inside me and out-

-Mark Doty, "Description"

May has passed me by in a blur of scorching heat and work weeks (the weekends are even more hazy). This city has had more than its share of baking under a merciless sun, but still, the heat seems incorrigibly here, and I have found myself staying indoors even more, as if my natural aversion to the outdoors wasn't yet strong enough.

My download of "The Beatles Anthology" has just completed ("Never Let Me Go" strains--eerie much!), and I plan on making it the soundtrack to the weekend where I will do nothing but laze away, the weekend that tails a 6-day work week that has drunk me to the lees of all, and, any urge to stand up. This bunny's Energizer batteries are all drained out.

Some serious recharging needs to be done.

These days, I mainly just breeze along. With the minutes, with the hours, with the days. If you asked me now where my month has gone, I'd probably answer with a shrug, proof that time has, indeed, passed by without my knowing. My "days" end a couple of hours after the sun rises and  I am usually to be found outside, talking to a colleague, or two, with my mind really flitting away into wondering where the hours have gone and did they have to go so quickly, and had I done all I had planned to do when the day began? The weekends drift by too quickly, and I hate that it has to be that way.

Whether the breezing along is a good thing or not remains to be seen because I have a nagging feeling that it could very well be just one manifestation of my determination to detach from things and detachment, though it wards away hurt and disappointment, could also leave one cold, and unfeeling, and just plain lonely. There are two sides to most things, that much we know.

So, how've you been?

From the weekend couch:

My fifth Almodovar


("Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown", 1988)

From The Weekend Couch