'Ff'lo (fflo) wrote,
'Ff'lo
fflo

elsewhere, but

It's snowing. Just as I typed that, Manny came to look out the window. It's his first real snow, here in the dark with the streetlight on the corner. Doesn't feel like looking out the window with Chet at his. Barely feels like much. I pretty much crippled myself, temporarily, doing the leaves today, and have resorted to painkillers but am finding an unpleasant psychic state has come with this aftermath. Have been trying to pretend I'm not in SE Michigan, and start the internal escape in lieu of the (whole-)bodily one. And now I look outside at the snow that's sticking, how it's making Alps out of my mountain range of leaves, in the street. I kinda feel it. So, yes, barely feels like much, but that's something, besides completely seized up stiff and sore.

Heat is an idea, too.

Left to my own devices, I can have a hard time with the basics. As I think I've sorta said recently here. You can live with it, I'm sure. So I repeat myself. So? I repeat myself.

Toward the beginning of today's leaf shift---I'd gotten the first good bit going yesterday---I was thinking how it's like corralling the pasture, sort of, and that got me to gittin' the dogies along, and thus singing cowboy songs (including a Cole Porter one), and then Kansas songs (songs about and from Kansas, not songs by the band "Kansas"), and then "Deep in the Heart of Texas" (that'll happen to you sometimes). I was thinking a little about the new Coen Bros picture, which is all 5 stars and maybe my favorite Western. (Yes it is too one.) And about this fellow Leo's interpretation of it, which I heard secondhand, and how the fact that Leo might have such an interpretation makes Leo even sexier. But I wasn't particularly (in the yard) thinking about Tommy Lee Jones's amazing face, or any of the many come-back-to-ya moments in that flick. (I'll be seeing it again before the big-screen run ends.)

Later, when I was really starting to flag, I wasn't singing any more. I said aloud words for a deity. And I asked somebody to tell me again ("Somebody tell me again...") how I love these trees. I really do love those trees. I know that. I just stopped feeling it. I also asked somebody to suggest that a commute from Detroit would be an irresponsible commitment to fossil fuel usage, not to mention a commute. Which would make me a commuter. It's bad enough living in this disneyland. Commuting to it--- well, I don't think I could keep it up for long.

Heat, right. Heat. Heeeeeeeat, Lisa. Memorize that.

I'm fixin' t' commence t'escapin' into the snow, maybe. Or the snowy oblivion. Snowy like the snow on the TV. Boys and girls, that's what we used to call the static on our cathode ray tubes. It's a long story I'll tell you someday.

Current mood: slight stirrings from hibernation
Current music: Zoot Sims & Joe Pass
Current current: babbling
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