Sitting in the relative cool of the room, pant legs rolled up, feet up on the desk. One hand holds the last few bits of the last chocolate bar for the month, the other runs through the thin cap of stringy white girl hair that remains after two days of un-braiding. A new stock of groceries is on the shelves, and newly-washed clothes are hanging on the line. A dozen windows are open on the computer, homework coming along slowly and without direction as a scattered mind works on punk, reggae, Jamaica, Chicago, Peace Corps, Mmegi, ISEP, UB, BNF, BCP, BDP, BMD, SMD, LLC... the acronyms could go on forever. The new sounds of Rilo Kiley are playing clear and soft, the songs bouncing across the tensionless air of a Monday morning. Skype and semester plans, courses and costs, applications and answer-hunts for questions that can't quite be put into words, all splayed across a surface non-existant: a non-space that can hold so many thoughts, dreams, and ideas.
What a weekend it was: chilling all day, becoming famous at night, turning one down, sleeping late, waking up early, sitting on concrete, pulling hairs, tugging rope for second-silver, walking with a little girl, walking with young ladies, playing cards past curfew, waking early, walking to mass late, figuring figures that can't be figured, singing solfage with friends, washing a 3-week-dirty scalp, scraping up hairballs, sleeping late.
And now here. The moments of indecision. The options all open. Pen and paper aside, synthesizers whirring their encouragement of motion, and one question whose answer will bolt the door or blow it up. One question that has to wait at least 2 hours to be asked.
Welcome to Monday morning. Do try to be productive.
Beautiful.
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