Thursday, February 19, 2009

same old, same old

out of time 1

I'd say I blog the way I do laundry, but you might think we're stepping around piles here for half a month before I get a mind to toss in a load. I could compare my slowness in coming around to this little spot to the way I dawdle and delay and guiltily, sheepishly, never get around to mailing things. But while I'm a better laundress than I am a blogger, I'm a much worse mail correspondent. Much, much worse. So, if you bother to click on over here, wondering if I have anything to say (and I'm sorry for all the wasted click-on-overs, praise be to the google reader), take comfort in knowing at least you're not one of the sad souls to whom I owe a package. Unless you are, indeed, waiting for some promised parcel. In which case, I apologize. Actually, let me just be sorry all around. For everything. I'm feeling a little sorry this evening and I might as well toss some contrition in the direction of any passersby to my public presence on this, the spaceship interweb.

out of time 2

I said goodbye to 2 dear friends the other day. I had known them for such a short time, but we spent most evenings together for the last month or so and I grew accustomed to the routine. Oh, Pullo and Vorenus, how I'll miss you. Yeah, yeah, we finished Rome. It might be a little like nutritional yeast: an acquired taste. It is gruesome and violent and a lot sexier and steamier than, well, network television and I nearly dismissed it after the first episode. But we kept it up and got sucked right in, right back two thousand plus years, and now I want to sprinkle that stuff on everything. It was good. It is over. Sigh. Moving on.

out of time 3

It's easy to be in the moment when you're surrounded by clocks that don't keep time. I have several. This is not an oversight, a belated purge of broken housewares; it is intentional. I like the random-ness of hands pointing to disparate, inconsistent numbers (i feel a little disparate and inconsistent myself, so much of the time). I like the ability to enjoy something -the aesthetic of shape, the recognition of age, the space taken up on a shelf- despite its purposed function having stopped some while ago.

See? No time has passed. The hands haven't moved at all. I might have had secret intentions of blogging here *every day for the whole, short month of February* and then, clearly, failed so completely. But such an endeavor would have accomplished. . . a whole bunch of nothing. I am giving myself the space to write when I feel like it and the time to come here when I remember to and the permission to be as sporadic and vague as is reflexive. I'm so tempted to close up shop, put the useless in a drawer and focus more on that which is productive, but pleasure is important. And this place does please me, even if it's quiet and I can't be so transparent and I have more ideas of things to write about than I ever get around to writing. . .

Because I am a broken record, a bulldog, a dead horse kicker (I didn't have any nicknames when I was a kid but these things I was called frequently, and really: some things never change) I will remind you that Rome truly is worth watching and, then, when you've finished the series (but two short seasons, boo melodramatic hoo) tell me all about it.

tick. . . tick. . . tick, I won't mention it again, I swear.


Angelina said...

The guilt this blog causes you is palpable. Well, I'm always happy when you come here and enjoy yourself.

I haven't watched Rome. I'm not sure I'm going to. But with no television I am constantly looking for new things to rent. Perhaps I'll come round. I love the Tudors even though it's full of steamy sex and betrayal, not my usual thing.

april. said...

ah, see. . . it's not the blog that causes me guilt: it's everything! i feel more like, eh, what's the point? about writing here. maybe if i narrowed it down and had more of a focused common theme or topic, but that's not how i roll, i guess. . .

the tudors has been recommended to me to try next. but probably no centurions there. :)

omy said...

we have the same collection of lip balms. :)

Anonymous said...

I love the stopped clock.

I like the moment.

Thanks for your insight.