the weather pattern

18 02 2010

I could feel the grey before I even opened my eyes. I could sense the cold before I rolled back the wool blanket.

Debating the merits, finding the motivation to take that first step is harder and harder these days. The repetition, the never changing weather pattern of grey, cold and snow was enough to want to stay in places more interesting then the real life weather pattern which seems to reflect that pattern of my current life. I can only think I’m on some self-destructive course a glaringly obvious fact, to which I still challenge but to which I am losing ground fast.

 But even in the midst of debate, by shear mechanical nature my legs take stride and I ramble downstairs to the john. I even seem to pee less enthusiastically these days as I watch with sharp aim so as not to urinate on my foot( that would only add insult to injury). The house is cold, the same cold that keeps me in a suspended state of animation also wakes the shiver of petulance. Three weeks no sunlight, lake effect snow a steady fallout, wonderment gone and the desire washed from my mouth. If only I had one thing that presented a positive to counteract the creeping affects of my growing indifference.

 To my surprise a slight laugh escaping my mouth. The fleeting memory of the red face belicosa who made advance after advance until finally I slipped her a stick of Juicy fruit( to mask the smell of wine and hard salami). Not unlike most nights at the local petri-dish bar, except this night I would accept the flailing hugs of this drunken meat princess, daughter of the local sausage king. I accepted and slapped the package a rightful firm meat tenderizing session. Exit stage left as the princess lay drooling on her pillow, I dressed in the bathroom and help myself to a stick of hard salami from the frig, the family knew its salami….which was the fleeting memory the pushed the smile across my face.

 The occasion, a less then character story, a minor flaw, a mild incursion was a temporary reprieve from the otherwise mundane night of disparaging glances.  It really only adds to my disappointment to the former man I respected. I glance at my turntable and instinctively reach for some vinyl love “Let It Bleed “….the static that only vinyl can give as the warmth spreads, I light my smoke from the gas burner. The first chord to Gimmie Shelter  strikes and I slide back onto the Jean-Marc leather, close my eyes “Oh, a storm is threat’ning” and again I smile by surprise