It’s Sunday afternoon and I go to work in a little over an hour. Last night we were a tad shorthanded, so the going was a bit rough. I’m still tired. My window is open, so I can see the backyard from my computer. My son is running around in circles, playing with a variety of balls and Frisbees and sidewalk chalks.
My son has this ceaseless desire to throw rocks over the fence at the yappy dog who constantly “yip-yip-yips” his way up and down the length of his territory. I really understand how he feels. His grandmother, on the other hand, does not, and chides him for this behavior. I just try to hide my amusement from them both.
I trimmed my goatee this morning and I hate the way it looks. It’s too short. I always inevitably trim it too short, so it looks awful for a week or so. I don’t know why I complain about. I generally don’t like the way I look anyway, so complaining about something so miniscule is like tilting at a windmill.
Life seems to be in a holding pattern right now. If time flows at all, it inches forward. There are things coming up. Anniversaries, good and bad. Easter. Concerts. Work, work, work, pub, club, sleep. I’m using these things to distract myself right now. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to care.
So, I listen to the dog “yip-yip-yip.” I hide my amusement as my son “misbehaves.” I avoid thinking about things out of my grasp. I avoid thinking about where things are going. The words elude me. I just feel them.