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[personal profile] auset
So it's all about moving, but not really. I just have to move me and my clothes and tag some stuff for the Salvation Army. Not so bad. (I'm subletting my place, hoping to return.) It's just that the little oomph it takes to actually pick up that size 10 pair of jeans that you haven't worn in three years and toss it, is missing. I mean that little starch it takes to stand up, move away from the living room couch and the laptop, detach from the cell phone, and DO IT Nike, ain't there. Can I say it's the impotence of the male member syndrome that comes to mind. I am limp and possibly a noodle, but the words still leap. They're all crowded in my head for the children's stories and the poetry and the novel that has taken a backseat for a poetry submission.

I need long green lawns of time to luxuriate in the novel. I need uninterrupted spaces to imagine, giggle, smirk, smile, and write the thing that now eludes me. My characters have very unceremoniously taken a trip on the Appalachian trail and are nowhere to be found. Either that or they are conjuring the next spell to put upon me, frogs and moonlight are involved.

Btw, just so you know, I just found out from a friend that the diabolical Monsanto seeds that are genetically engineered, are crossed with the dna of a frog. Why? Because plants die in winter cold. The frogs can survive cold conditions. So the plants crossed with frogs can withstand cold temperatures that can kill a crop. They just can't reproduce, of course. So you are dependent on Monsanto like a koala bear addicted to that sap. Looks good, but very suspect.

My dad is 93 and I will be moving in with him in Delaware from Baltimore in a just-in-case scenario. He is fiercely independent with caregivers and friends at his beck and call. According to him I can just come there and focus on writing full-time. It's a great gift that he offers, but really, he needs some watching. He and my mother were nothing less than the Community Chest. I guess that dates me, but it means they were treasured in their community. My mother just died in April. My father has all his faculties...just slower. He can regal you for hours with tales from his life, or engage in a hot political down-with-the-robber-barons-debate, And he's on Facebook! There, I think that says it.

Peeling myself from this couch to make my bed...unless I get rerouted.
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August 2010

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