I hate this planet. I hate this planet and maybe especially this continent for all the stupid little fuckups that build and build and turn into black mountains obscuring the sun, and in my head I know that they're made of nothing, nothing but shadow
and yet a two hour traffic jam surrounded by yellow SUVs and other monsters of modern egotism
just about suffocated the simple beauty of my singing teacher, my music teacher (I still have a hard time believing that I'm learning music), very quietly, exclaiming a single syllable today.
"Wow."
Wow, when we finally fell upon the fifth of notes that are perfectly within my second register. Wow, when I sang them without her, without the piano, without anything, and they came out entirely unlike either of us expected them to.
I left her house with my heart up behind my eyes where my fourth register is supposed to resonate.
I left her house singing Vaccaj's at the top of my diaphragm (seeing as it really isn't a lung thing, is it?), thinking of the ghosts I'd kiss tonight.
I left her house and two hours later was still inching along a too-wide road with tears drowning out whatever was left in that space behind my eyes.
Because of traffic. A universe filled with traffic jams, and universe in which somehow I ended up part of the problem.
A universe in which I am just another car on a road that shouldn't need to exist, despite the couple behind me laughing at my bumper stickers, despite that top note that I never thought I'd sing without squeaking.
There isn't enough time in this universe, where Adam is still waiting for me to fix those html archives for him, where Moe is still waiting for me to code the skeleton for that monitoring app that he wanted, and where I can't even begin either of those because I haven't had a day to dedicate to just getting my X-server running.
Not with job applications, and trying to unpack myself into this space and finish smoothing out the rest of it. Not with the world in so much flux around me, refusing to stop when I falter into vulnerable.
Maybe I should turn that piece off again.
We'll see.
Happy Samhein, maybe by midnight I will have shaken this modern menace from my head just enough to speak those syllables with sincerity.
Right now, though, oh right now - I hate this universe.