December 2004 Archives

Well, I feel like someone has been rubbing me with sandpaper until I've worn down to near translucency.

It's been that kind of year.

Thought I'd pop in, though, and offer a wish for a much better time for all in 2005.

May the New Year be safe, happy, healthy and filled with the best of dreams realized.

Happy New Year.

As per much of this month, things here have been a bit jumbled and non-holiday seeming. So, being tardy with this is probably no surprise, but anyway...

Merry Christmas!

I hope your holiday was an enjoyable one -- and that the coming New Year is bright and happy.

Me, after several long night shifts at work.

If things were time-lapsed (the sky flicking through day and night cycles while people and cars flash by) I'd have a glass of water in my hand and a dazed look on my face. After the high-speed old time movie jitters, I'd look down and see that the drink had evaporated.

Like all of the time before Christmas.

On the white-painted cinderblock wall: Little Big. In black magic marker. I thought of that beautiful book. The permutations.

At this point, I should be sleeping. Or waking...

I had half a meal at some indeterminate time before this. I am not ready for the other half just yet. When I came home, a few stretched moments ago, the snow crunched thin and gritty under my shoes. (There are no curves in the air now -- just crystal edges.) I'm sitting here chewing gum and drinking water that has a distant icy taste. My shoes are off, but I am not completely ready for bed -- or for a day. I'm in-between.

My blinds are closed. It was dark when I came in. I am not sure what is like out there now. I'm thinking of the words, and the book, and how it feels to be in-between and both.

The day feels late to me now, though I know it is early.

And then, everything turned white. The sky broke into icy pixels and drifted everywhere. The roads; slick and shiny as wet coal.

I woke and wrote, in the unknown afternoon. Evening tumbling up.

Wishing for red wine, and hours of a different flavor.

This reversal thing is taking some getting used to. I get home in the dawn, stay up for a while, then seal out the daylight and sleep till night. The identity of any given day or hour is smearing like paint on a wet canvas. My dreams are distracted. My spaces, cluttered.

And time?

Time crawls.

After the party...

The soundtrack to Phantom of the Opera (a gift from Kelli) surging in my headphones. Snow frosting the grass and still cars. The night? Ink, above. Sharp stars within. A candle in the window casting electricity outward into blackness.

I am tired -- but up. Unwilling to sleep quite yet.

The twelve of twelve and I have dreamed of the ocean.

Happy birthday to me.

I'm working the night shift a the Post Office for some extra Christmas cash...it's an interesting place (though this reversed sleep-cycle thing is going to take some getting used to).

It's well after 3pm, now and the sky is smudged purple. Everything is wet and chilled. I feel like morning and evening are blended in some dreary, dreamlike mix.

And my feet are sore...

Writing away at Kelli’s. The power is off, but this iBook still has about 33 minutes of juice left -- and the screen is plenty bright to type by.

I feel like a de-saturated photograph. My colors have gone ghost-pale, and my details are implied (at best).

Black leather creaks as I shift in the darkness. I’m still wearing my coat. I’m hungry.

Even when they are short, the hours seem so long.

I could sleep for a season.

I'm sort of early on the wintery view -- but it is December and I expect this month to be a bit compressed. Edited for time, perhaps.

So The Allurium's Winter Theme is up early (before the actual start of Winter, that is). I hope that you like it.

At this moment, my December looks like a golden spotlight, turned on a perfect, powder-blue sky.

Slanting.

Deep.

And a little chilly.

Great beasts of air and chilly rain thundered and rushed round the house last night. Autumn's remaining leaves have been stripped bare from the bending trees. Now it is vivid and crystal clear. Gusts make the landscape sway and fret.

December comes, sleek and powerful. Bright.

And with a blue roaring of winds.