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.

Best use of the colon in a drunk email ever.

"Guys: confession."



Genius of this email is also known to conduct very lengthy and well thought out debates about deep and important topics, all while pounding car bombs.

Contentment

A nap of 20 minutes lasted 120. I woke up squinty eyed, confused, and with my skirt on backwards. Drool matted my hair to my face. I was a set of wrinkles: face wrinkles, shirt wrinkles, and worry wrinkles. I had articles to read! Literary letters to write! Bathrooms to clean! However, I don't move from my encasement of sheet, blanket, and down comforter. I turn over and watch the fading light from my window.

I could be there now,
snuggled with content,
if not for the smell of bacon. *


*so aware of the extra syllable. it is killing me.

Confidential

The package was tucked in my box, sealed in a manila envelope, labeled as important. As I slide it out, hidden among the packets of Tuesday folder flyers and attendance cards, my fingers tingle with the contraband. Who knew reading could feel so devious?

A last hurrah

I have such a heavenly day planned:

- Read on metro. Watch speeding scenery changes. Play million dollars and a passport.

- Wander around Capitol Hill Books. Peruse all mysteries, hold on to something that is more madcap then thriller. Hunt for Cold Comfort Farm. Justify its purchase as I cannot find my own copy. If possible, buy two copies, just in case. Success means I found some wonderful Elizabeth Gaskell that I have not read; super success means I have also found my Monday night book club book.

- Make transfer on metro. Miss train to people watch.

- Walk up and down fancy stairs at the Portrait Gallery. Maybe imagine that it is 1865 and am wearing a regal creation with a long train. Visit all my friends. Pay respects to Katherine. Ran sack book store.

- Caress finds on the metro.

While I knew my day was perfect, the heavens above sought to make it even better: Hot Jane Eyre, tonight.

My Life as a Ten Year Old: How on the first day of vacation, I avoided all adult responsibilities and read a book all day, from start to finish.

When I started Hiroko Sherwin's Eight Million Gods and Demons, I thought I was reading about the strength of a tender wife whose philandering husband causes great devastation in her home life. I did not know her strength was just the introduction, that her story laid the foundation for the narrative's theme.

I was reading about the strength of family. How strength and courage changes overtime; what was once confrontational, maybe now courage to speak one's mind. As the characters moved out of their caricatures, I found myself in their words and actions. And I wondered. In the same shadow of destruction, would I have the same strength of words and actions. Or is my courage only strong when the sun is shinning.

Play it Again

Re-reading: Slowly
sinking in sentence structure
words wrap like water