National Book Festival

I found my self frustrated and antsy. All this talking about great books and great ideas made me long more for my bed and the pile of books beside it.

Sunday Mornings

I lie awake, covers tossed to the side, the soft, summer morning coolness refreshing my sleep stuffy skin. Gazing out the window, my minds drifts to the now - no to do lists, no memories, no daydreams. Just now. I examine the sunrise, waking up the brick buildings across the courtyard, creating dramatic shadows under ledges. One bird's song becomes the soundtrack to my early morning revelry.

This summer is effing melting my brain.

I typed the last paragraph of the previous post out of order. I am not sure how I did that and I promise I re-read my posts a gazillion times because I am a terrible speller.

I also cannot stop: cursing, using non-culturally appropriate slang, cheking my twitter, and wearing the same blue polo like everyday. Whatever on the blue polo because it has a cute little scooped neck and capped sleeves. I also have it in brown but only wear that on special days.

Cavaties of the Brain

I read so much trash at the beach that I cannot seem to focus on anything of real value. This is not just reflected on my book reading, but also my newspaper, magazine, and blog reading. I could not even read the first two paragraphs on a Post article about the new baseball stadium. I should be all about this article. I should be speed reading it, running to the computer, reading what every blogger says about my new slice of heaven, and then, naturally, reading recently written blogs and articles about my baseball boyfriend.

Instead, I read my favorite comic, scanned the headlines, and ran to the computer to re-read my favorite posts on dfa. I have about the self control of a small child who just discovered m&ms. And the attention span as I cannot seem to concentrate on this post because of the pull of the Internet. Maybe dfa posted again? Have I read all the gawker comments? When was the last time I checked gofugyourself?

Proof that this cotton candy reading diet is zapping me: I am loving my new David Sedaris(normal) but am mentally referring it as my intellectual reading of the week (almost normal), and justifying reading of a Sedaris passage to "research" the Silverman-Kimmel split (totally crazy).

First Love

When we came to her favorite page, she took the open book and squeezed it tight against her body. The pages of the book were the arms of a good friend.

The many blues of a thunderstorm.

I love the sound of weather, the patter of sleet, the drive of rain, the quiet whooshes of wind bursts. Body curling among blankets and books, face pressing against cold glass, legs stepping from the dry bubble of an umbrella, listening, I immerse myself in the simple rhythms and harmonies of its patterns. I let it flow through me, around me, circling my body as if I am a rock in its a stream. Submerging me - wet and cold; hot then warm; forceful but soft.

8 More Days

Sigh loudly, look longingly. The piles of to-reads long ago over ran my night stand. Their stacks line my floor in neat rows, like cars in a parking lot, waiting to be picked up by their loving owner. And this loving owner is not at the opera, or a 4 course - 4 star meal, but feasting upon the dry bones of grad school articles and final projects.

One more week, I whisper to them. Then we will joy ride again.