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Jul. 10th, 2003 12:40 amLately it's been so rainy that I really shouldn't be surprised when I suddenly notice the slickrush of wet tires on pavement. But the rain keeps sneaking up on us and sprinkling us with extra bonus spring showers. It's weird, and makes me glad not to be in the suburbs, where I would almost certainly be chewed alive by mosquitos by now.
I need to make myself go to bed, but I feel wound up and pulled taut with a lingering sense of frustration that I'm not doing enough. There are not enough hours in the day. That every minute spent being leisurely is a minute completely wasted and most likely completely devoid of meaning or value.
Not sure where this Type A-ism is coming from right now, but it's not entirely welcome. Sure, I keep the dishes washed, and everything's folded neatly, but every now and then my mind feels like it's racing. I have so much I want to do!
If anyone remembers my story about Jay Underwood, you might be interested to know that The Boy Who Could Fly is now out on DVD. Mine's ordered, of course. Ah, my guilty pleasure movie. I've made a few people watch it in the past, and even though the last few years I've felt extremely dorky and twee about it, it really is one of my very favorites. Anything that's got Colleen Dewhurst and Fred Gwynne and Fred Savage as a surprisingly adorable little kid ... well, it's ripe for eighties nostalgia, at the very least. It's a Disney movie. I wanted Lucy Deakin's hair.
The rain is steady and soft, now, more audible. The dishes are drying in the rack, and I feel no closer to calm. I'm going to lie in my bed and hope for oblivion - at least until the alarm clock goes off.
I need to make myself go to bed, but I feel wound up and pulled taut with a lingering sense of frustration that I'm not doing enough. There are not enough hours in the day. That every minute spent being leisurely is a minute completely wasted and most likely completely devoid of meaning or value.
Not sure where this Type A-ism is coming from right now, but it's not entirely welcome. Sure, I keep the dishes washed, and everything's folded neatly, but every now and then my mind feels like it's racing. I have so much I want to do!
If anyone remembers my story about Jay Underwood, you might be interested to know that The Boy Who Could Fly is now out on DVD. Mine's ordered, of course. Ah, my guilty pleasure movie. I've made a few people watch it in the past, and even though the last few years I've felt extremely dorky and twee about it, it really is one of my very favorites. Anything that's got Colleen Dewhurst and Fred Gwynne and Fred Savage as a surprisingly adorable little kid ... well, it's ripe for eighties nostalgia, at the very least. It's a Disney movie. I wanted Lucy Deakin's hair.
The rain is steady and soft, now, more audible. The dishes are drying in the rack, and I feel no closer to calm. I'm going to lie in my bed and hope for oblivion - at least until the alarm clock goes off.
