Where the words are (tf)

Winter is almost over, and it still hasn’t arrived. Temps were in the 50s yesterday and next week shows more of the same. Not a nor’easter in sight. Or even weather that requires a coat. I can’t ever remember a winter like this. No snow days for the schools. Not even a jump-the-gun 2 hour delay. As a cold weather lover, this has all been ghastly to me. Spring and all its wretchedness will soon be upon us, and I won’t even have fond memories of snowplows to combat the incessant cheeriness of folks who get way too big a bang out of chirping birds and cutting grass.

And then….hell. Well, for me anyway. That would be summer. Three months of sweat and my glasses slipping down my nose and body odor and teenagers in cars with all the windows open so the world can experience the intricacies of their stereo systems. Three months of it never getting dark and being attacked by bugs and no college basketball or football of any kind. Three months of fat people not wearing enough clothes and my kids telling me they’re bored and watching my grass get infected with some sort of disease that turns it brown. Three months of being reminded that we don’t have a pool and that the air-conditioner in my car doesn’t work. Each day seems to last a month and a half. By July the fireworks and the carnivals and the beer tents have my nerves on edge….and by August, after putting a goofy expensive beach vacation on the credit card (and being made fun of for wanting to spend all my beach time in air-conditioned bookstores and museums) I’m ready to hit random people over the head with a 7 iron just to amuse myself.

I seem to have gone on a bit of a tangent. Such things are inevitable when faced with a blank page and time to kill. I’m just thankful Stevens allows me this space to spout off. He could choose to share it with somebody who adores sweating. Or even….I shudder at the thought…a fellow professional. Stevens actually makes his living by crafting words. Though his fame comes from his shameless mugging for the cameras and his retro-wardrobe, it’s his ability to simplify and at the same time uniquely poeticize the English language that allows him to live in such grand, gated opulence. Me? I regurgitate my musings for no remuneration at all. I’m forced to pay my bills through actual work, truly a desperate condition to be in. Writing is a daily holiday from the banality of real life. To do it for a living is the holy grail of careers.

In truth I am insanely jealous.

But it’s not like Stevens rubs it in more than 3 or 4 times a day. So I’ll get over it.

I would get over it quicker if I could go outside and slip on some ice or something.

Maybe there’s something to my love and dank and dreary weather. It conjures up all sorts of images in the noggin. The shortened days and the long nights and the cold winds open doors normally locked by the sunny expectations of others with whom you have absolutely nothing in common.

You know….the ones who feel like they have to be outside to enjoy the day. I sometimes wish I was more mainstream like them. Some might call it normal. I’d have a better tan if I spent more time on the beach and less time in museums and bookstores.

But that’s where the words are. The sun just gets in my eyes.



~ by admin on February 23, 2012.

One Response to “Where the words are (tf)”

  1. endless summer here in FLA

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