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December 29, 2011 - 12:59 I am drinking warm white wine, that I believe is intended for cooking. The television is turned down completely and in periphery the Real Housewive's bickering just feels like a pleasant slide show of jewel tones and skin. There's a snoring boxer (dog) in a plastic kennel who has consumed butter, chocolate, and up to 8 inches of rawhide today, and in consequence is experiencing a snoring of sorts in other areas of her body. It's unpleasant, but I can only imagine it's worse for her. I find myself staying up very, very late at my sister's house. It feels almost necessary, after surviving the daily din of children and marital squabbling, to designate hours of actual solitude after everyone has retired. It's something that I take for granted at home, where I am alone as often, and as long as I want to be. It's almost always nice to realize what you take for granted. When it's this quiet I become aware of how hard this house works to support its inhabitants. It presents itself audibly as a machine of constant toil, radiators and refrigerators and washing machines that are working on a walmart schedule. As much as I dislike this house in concept, there is something very nice about being within it for short periods of time. Because of course it is wunderbar to be with my family, but also, it's just so clean. Unpacking my belongings makes me out to be a total Pigpen, I swear cartoonish motes of dust billow out of my duffel. My items reveal themselves to be covered in critter debris, and so shabby in all of this overhead lighting. I could go on, but there is a good chance that when I attempt to "publish" this meandering sketch of my surroundings, that it won't materialize. The wind is blowing open o's and when this happens the wifi connection flickers like a candle. No Autosave, and Diaryland, that is one reason why I love you.
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