Random Musings - Picking at the Bones of Life
I wrote this two years ago, and only just found it again. Must say
I haven't moved on a whole lot since then!
________
I am not a mornings person.
But, when the cat leaps through the window straight onto one's stomach at 7am, it is hard to return to the fuzzy embrace of sleep without the syrupy-slow, creepingly depressing realisation that it would be noon before one's eyes opened upon daylight once more.
Then sleep would elude me again until the wee small hours of Monday morning, and so would begin another week of sluggish stumbling towards a Friday that is neither any further nor any closer than it should be, but whose seeking and abject desire for always reminds me of a hungry person who eagerly anticipates the breast of a roast chicken, but who fails to spend delicious time picking out the greasy, meaty morsels between the bones; the short moments in the week when something useful can be done are often passed over as time to moan or drink coffee or are sacrificed on the alter of Addictive yet Awful TV.
The house is a mess, and I only have myself to blame.
Perhaps certain other individuals too, to a lesser extent, but they shall remain nameless. One cannot expect lower orders of species to appreciate the importance of vacuum cleaning.
The point, however, is that I have failed to embrace the sweet moments of time between tasks, and have ended up wishing five sevenths of my life away purely to attain two small portions of lean, dry, insubstantial breast meat. The cat jumped on me at 7, yet it is now almost 8. How much of that hour was spent to no purpose? Well, half of it here, certainly. Coffee took about five minutes, and the necessity of bestowing food on two dependent felines about five more. At least ten minutes were spent lying in the warmth of my blankets whilst peeking through a crack in the curtains, contemplating the magical grayness of the Autumn dawn. Not time wasted, then, because I relish such delicious moments of calm, listening to the silence of the world and feeling the words swirling around my head, rushing and tumbling over the rocks of my own cynicism, churned into pulp and discarded as meaningless, only for more to flow in silvery streams across my mind, swarming and swirling and falling, as bright as embers and as cold as stars, uninterrupted by the cacophony of daily life.
I sometimes wish I lived in a city, so that the banal hum would drown out the awful illusions that blind me to the remembrance of more important things. But would that be a life? A note for a different day perhaps.
It is now beyond 8, and I have just seen the first car drive by. Whereas 7am made me feel like the world lay at my feet, the harsh sun, despite its veil of blue-gray cloud, has burnt my imagination and put me firmly back in my place; a girl behind a keyboard, and no more.
I may try getting up early again tomorrow.
________
I am not a mornings person.
But, when the cat leaps through the window straight onto one's stomach at 7am, it is hard to return to the fuzzy embrace of sleep without the syrupy-slow, creepingly depressing realisation that it would be noon before one's eyes opened upon daylight once more.
Then sleep would elude me again until the wee small hours of Monday morning, and so would begin another week of sluggish stumbling towards a Friday that is neither any further nor any closer than it should be, but whose seeking and abject desire for always reminds me of a hungry person who eagerly anticipates the breast of a roast chicken, but who fails to spend delicious time picking out the greasy, meaty morsels between the bones; the short moments in the week when something useful can be done are often passed over as time to moan or drink coffee or are sacrificed on the alter of Addictive yet Awful TV.
The house is a mess, and I only have myself to blame.
Perhaps certain other individuals too, to a lesser extent, but they shall remain nameless. One cannot expect lower orders of species to appreciate the importance of vacuum cleaning.
The point, however, is that I have failed to embrace the sweet moments of time between tasks, and have ended up wishing five sevenths of my life away purely to attain two small portions of lean, dry, insubstantial breast meat. The cat jumped on me at 7, yet it is now almost 8. How much of that hour was spent to no purpose? Well, half of it here, certainly. Coffee took about five minutes, and the necessity of bestowing food on two dependent felines about five more. At least ten minutes were spent lying in the warmth of my blankets whilst peeking through a crack in the curtains, contemplating the magical grayness of the Autumn dawn. Not time wasted, then, because I relish such delicious moments of calm, listening to the silence of the world and feeling the words swirling around my head, rushing and tumbling over the rocks of my own cynicism, churned into pulp and discarded as meaningless, only for more to flow in silvery streams across my mind, swarming and swirling and falling, as bright as embers and as cold as stars, uninterrupted by the cacophony of daily life.
I sometimes wish I lived in a city, so that the banal hum would drown out the awful illusions that blind me to the remembrance of more important things. But would that be a life? A note for a different day perhaps.
It is now beyond 8, and I have just seen the first car drive by. Whereas 7am made me feel like the world lay at my feet, the harsh sun, despite its veil of blue-gray cloud, has burnt my imagination and put me firmly back in my place; a girl behind a keyboard, and no more.
I may try getting up early again tomorrow.
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3 Comments
Tony, I've tried that before, and yes, it can be a bit weird. When I get my new house I shall ask the Housewarming Fairy for a digital radio, since my normal one is now brokened. I suspect, though, that getting to bed earlier is the best solution, if the least fun. :/
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