Estranged
2:53 PM, a Thursday in November. Sunlight and falling leaves. Music in the background. Wearing black and blue. Estranged.
I am.
I jingled as a jester on Halloween. Sort of fun but, you know, the weather was turning chilly even then. Foolish to feel foolish while wearing a fool but sometimes you forget the aspect you present. The onset of self consciousness can be so disappointing. But, hey...
There’s the sky: blue, blue, blue. Light as crisp as the edge of a fallen Autumn leaf. Like a glass of ice cold water is the air. November, wrapping around like a long coat, hands cupping the warmth of a steaming cup of coffee. Winter teasing with chilly caresses. Soon to be Decembering.
I got my hair cut and like the look. A little bit longer on top.
Bowie is repeating on the CD player.
Days ago, a Johnny Mathis song was looping through my mind. "Here comes that landmark question in advance..." Hah, something I’ve been wondering, myself.
Writing and I have been distant from each other recently. I don’t really know why. I fuss around the edges of the problem and then stare, nonplussed, at the wide quiet lake sitting where the road used to be. Like: Where the hell did that come from?
So I’m soundtracking this entry (like I do, more often than not). Writing to music, a little mind and finger dance. It’s a CD from the 80’s now: Michael Penn’s March. Haven’t listened to this one in years. He had a couple of hits on this album. "No Myth" and "This & That", if I remember correctly. Pretty smooth. I haven’t heard much from him recently, though.
Anyway, "I’ll do this/and I’ll do that" and I really don’t know what I’ll be doing New Year’s Eve.
But, hey, I have a tux.
--- JWR, 11/18/99