July 7,  2002

      Vacation time is over for a bit.  Bummer.  

      It was really hard to get up, get organized and be disciplined this morning.  In a very short time, i had gotten used to the slow morning rising, and clad in only a thin shapeless sundress, spending my day doing as little as possible, and only then doing things that were creative.  i craved the smell of oil paint all day. To have to rise and drag a pair of panty hose over my sorry butt was hell on wheels.  *sigh*

      It didn't take long to get back into the swing of things though. And it was so weird - people were welcoming me back and looking ... relieved! One fellow with his own set of stress related problems put a hand on each of my shoulders and looking straight into my eyes very sincerely uttered; "... thank gawd you are back!"  Another woman sent an email which contained enormous vary coloured text that read "welcome back."  i was thoroughly flattered.

      Now i'm back to pacing my time again.  i wanted to come home and paint tonight.  By the time i left the office and got off the streetcar it was already 7:25 p.m.  Himself was cooking dinner and i just wanted to spend time with Him.  He'd had as busy a day as me.  So painting was definitely out of the question.  my geisha girl will have to wait.  my Picasso dreams are definitely relegated to the weekends.  Heh.  i always was a weekend warrior.

      It's strange the things you think about on the streetcar.  i often get on the car regretting the fact that i don't have a book to read.  And yet more often than not, this is my best "thinking" time.  When often i'm at my most creative, yet i don't jot all the ideas down.  i'm not sure why that is.  

      The streetcar ride has produced some pretty wild thoughts - from writing a story about a child who doesn't want to cut his hair, to thinking what it would be like to be tossed down on the living room floor and having my legs and arms tied to the table.. and things stuck in me.   All very bizarre, but wonderfully freeing in its own sort of way.  Today's thoughts were just as liberating, albeit not so erotic.

      For the past month or so i've been focused on my deceased cousin and how her life must have been, while trying to survive in this city.  And that led to the idea of writing about her.  Which led to a play or book about her and on and on.  i haven't a clue if any of it will ever surface - but my imagination ran wild with the possibilities.   And i suppose that's a definite streetcar advantage.. the chance to let one's mind drift aimlessly.

      Who knows, it might even produce something one day.      

 

"there's a part there where he sings : "Honey i don't care, i ain't in love with your hair and if it all falls out - i'd love you anyway. Oh baby i'm gonna love you forever, for ever and ever amen. As long as old men sit and talk about the weather, as long as old women sit and talk about old men'....."

and then she said:

"i always think of you and your hair now when i hear that song :)"

Who can explain some friendships?  And what does it matter so long as they are as special as above?  Someone i only know online - who puts her time and energies into an ezine that is my dream - and listens when i lament, as i try to do for her.  How can the internet be all bad when such friendships come from it?

      Hint:  email

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