O World, How You Taunt Me
May. 29th, 2004 08:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladyspriteI am sitting in my room right now, pretending that today is mine to do with as I please. The sun is shining brightly enough that it woke me up about an hour before my alarm, making the bedroom feel like the inside of a jewel. Looking out my window now, the world is clear and bright and green and gold, and hte leaves on the lilac are dancing. The breeze blowing in at me is just cool enough to promise that it won't be too hot later.
My porch is slowly turning into a jungle - there are windowboxes of lettuce and begonias, and pots of marigolds, and hanging baskets of flowers, and a giant basket of mint plants next to the bench. I could hide there all day. I have homemade maple-blueberry cornbread, and tea, and a sweater I made myself, and my favorite book, and I could curl up in a sunny sweet-smelling spot and have absolutely no responsibility to the outside world at all.
There's a green heron who lives on the edge of the river near my house, and swans a little further down, and three small and rather meditative turtles who sun themselves on a log near the footpath to Medford Square. I could walk down to the ice cream parlor and see how many different living things I share the city with on the way.
I could weed my garden. I could spend the morning kneeling outside in the grass, talking quietly and encouragingly to the teeny green stumps of beans and cucumbers that are poking their shy heads out, and planting the new soybean seeds, and burying my hands in the dirt, and letting the warmth and the life soak into me until I never feel dizzy again.
But I won't. Because I'm a responsible adult, and I have to work. I will go put on my hard-soled shoes and my white coat, and I will pace about inside a building with no windows, and I will stick needles into small cute things and have anguishing internal monologues about my personal responsibility to report suspected abuse, and I will clean up unmentionable bodily fluids, and I will smile the whole damn time. And then I will come home and lie on the lawn until my sweetheart comes looking for me, and maybe never go indoors again.
My porch is slowly turning into a jungle - there are windowboxes of lettuce and begonias, and pots of marigolds, and hanging baskets of flowers, and a giant basket of mint plants next to the bench. I could hide there all day. I have homemade maple-blueberry cornbread, and tea, and a sweater I made myself, and my favorite book, and I could curl up in a sunny sweet-smelling spot and have absolutely no responsibility to the outside world at all.
There's a green heron who lives on the edge of the river near my house, and swans a little further down, and three small and rather meditative turtles who sun themselves on a log near the footpath to Medford Square. I could walk down to the ice cream parlor and see how many different living things I share the city with on the way.
I could weed my garden. I could spend the morning kneeling outside in the grass, talking quietly and encouragingly to the teeny green stumps of beans and cucumbers that are poking their shy heads out, and planting the new soybean seeds, and burying my hands in the dirt, and letting the warmth and the life soak into me until I never feel dizzy again.
But I won't. Because I'm a responsible adult, and I have to work. I will go put on my hard-soled shoes and my white coat, and I will pace about inside a building with no windows, and I will stick needles into small cute things and have anguishing internal monologues about my personal responsibility to report suspected abuse, and I will clean up unmentionable bodily fluids, and I will smile the whole damn time. And then I will come home and lie on the lawn until my sweetheart comes looking for me, and maybe never go indoors again.
