Limbo, 2

The first week of autumn has seen us nothing but blue skies over Stillwater; accompaniment provided by 80 degree air. That is, perfection.

Working indoors all day long finds me thinking -- well, damn, if only I could get outside and drowse in the bright blue-gold.

As soon as I get out of work I rejoice in the free of fryer air and hold my arms out like a tree -- just like that scene from Girl Interrupted, but I really am a tree -- not a shrub.

Then I drive straight home, have to meet up with Joshua and walk the dog.

Once home, I'm exhausted. It's amazing how draining a hatred is on the body. To counteract the constant, pointless motion of work I sit in my office and occupy myself with any number of things that may or may not survive to be impressive. Immediately, these activities are still and mentally challenging. Thus, relief.

The more I read this Absinthe picture book of mine, the more I understand the slide into "Being an Artist" by nineteenth century standards; except my bank account doesn't support lounging around on the terraces of cafes.

Mostly I'm afraid to walk anywhere in this town without shoes, and would have very little luck in finding a place anywhere in the town to walk about and enjoy sunshine anyhow.

This particular realization made me miss Shepherdstown keenly. This was a place where -- no matter what got tossed on the ground and broke -- I never once hurt my feet by being barefoot. Never was there a shortage of pretty places to sit. Never a hunt for pretty. That might be another reason for my sudden effluence in art work, the distinct lack of pretty that exists here. Get out of town during a roiled weather day, perhaps, yes, the landscape is gorgeous like linen, but in town we are in a scrap of New Jersey tossed as far as possible and festering with franchise.
And nothing is within walking distance from my apartment.

There are two bike places though. When I stop owing Joshua money I'll check them out.