I would ask where to start but today there is a zenlike calm in the air, I would have called it a cloud but nothing is clouded.
There is no such thing as a synonym. I learned that on the plane ride home.
Ten billion disasters (although there is such thing as hyperbole) on the plane ride home from the Man That Kept Touching My Arm to long lines and ticket confusion and the heart-rending ending of the book that I'd been reading and I arrived home tired, afraid, and drowning in a strange sort of melancholy.
The soul of New Orleans seemed to be seeping from me already.
If I could describe the glorious encounters with glorious people as dancing with stars, then I spent my weekend doing the merengue with great flaming bodies across the sky.
Returning home to car troubles, catastrophes of indecisive people and my design pages, pleas for attention that I didn't have to give with a head still swimming with wonder and a slight case of overbombing, and the desperate turn of events in a dear friend's home life, I was less than thrilled to be crawling amongst cold sheets under a grey sky with the warmest person in my life still hundreds of miles away at a conference in Chicago.
I wallowed in melancholy yesterday evening.
I adorned the foot of my canopy bed with Mardi-Gras beads that the Marquis had dumped on my head, and I lost myself in the handiwork, and thought great beached whales of thoughts about directions and stimulations and the magic that I'd rediscovered in yet another set of cobbled streets.
It would appear that anything sprung from cobbles contains the same burst of spirit that the scent of cherry blossoms (which are blooming all about the office) does for my tired phalanges.
Remembering Eric Fromm, simultaneously breathing in air scented with faerie wings and even the car couldn't shake me after my lunchtime meander through the precariously preserved parks on Nun's Island.
I am breathing deeply and slowly, drawing each breath into the depths of my diaphragm and feeling the planet pulse beneath me with every step. I can't feel the universe yet, but I know it's there.
Add this evening's Multicultural Japanese Night at work and a bellyful of sushi and that orgasm that I've been waiting until tomorrow night for is going to be a great booming bonus, but far from my only salvation right now.
Right now, the world is warm as my belly is full of perfect food, and my arms are reaching out across states, countries, and even continents.
And my strength is still returning with every bottle of SCORNED WOMAN hot sauce that I toss like those selfsame beads to coworkers who grin up at me as though I were an unseasonal visit from Sandy Claws.
~