Gratitude
If it’s ugly it’s not my fault. I am who I am and I live how I can. Not the stuff stories are made of. So I was dodging the prayer I’ve been forcing myself to do every morning. Not strong enough to say: you’re not getting out of here until you do, oh no, even if it’s staring into silence only.
yes, that might be all, he might never call, a cat may die, following others, this might be it, this so not noteworthy daily carrying on. So I’m dressing and thinking of subjects because, hell, I just watched Wall-E last night and while my friend laughed sophisticatedly during the first half I had that nasty knott in my throat, and had to stick my finger in my glasses a few times. Amidst the wasteland at least there are plants, right? and people dance and vote and don’t forget, so that’s something. Speaking of which, I thought, I’ll stretch a bit and figure something out. If I can only come up with the cats I’m in deep shit, but hey, look at this fat elegance they spread leisurely, and now this leap, high into the pantry, fearless, pointless, playing.
I’ll figure more out, just have to get this kink right here in the lower hip. We really broke it yesterday, and when I looked at my face on the other side I didn’t want to say what it looked like or interpret it, sausage or not. The good thing about choreographies is that you can go over them over and over and sometimes you are too tired not to make mistakes, but you get to try time after time, and it’s easier than life, because there’s music.
Ok, I figured, I’ll come up with something by afternoon, I’ll see what someone else isn’t blessed with and come up with my own by forced comparison. See, I told you I’m a nasty person, stingy with myself, immature.
But, listen, then, two (more) miracles. Text message from my student, he had managed to make my laptop work, the wifi, the cd, everything! He took it home because he likes those little challenges, he said. Lost as it was according to tech support, I passed the bag to him, happy that there were people in the world who did these things, these acts of simultaneous kindness and challenge to what is.
Laptop will come back! The cats are lining up langorously in the stretches of sun that transcribe the balcony. It’s sunday market, I’m off for a walk. And oh, he calls.
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You’re currently reading “Gratitude,” an entry on Writing under prompts
- Published:
- November 23, 2008 / 11:37 am
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- Sundayscribblings
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