Happy Wednesday. It’s grey as grey can be, but that strange cotton-ball-lit-from-outside grey that seems to dull the noise of the Beltway so that all that fills the house is our typing and the snoring of one large cat, sleeping the exhausted sleep of a large cat exhausted from sleeping.
I get it.
I must admit – I could imagine sleeping the day away too. It’s been a lot of non-stop recently, and only this morning I got to NOT set an alarm and wake up at my own pace. Nowhere to be and nothing immediate to do. Simply a grey world to embrace, or perhaps be embraced by.
It seems I’ve spent DAYS driving up and down I-95, and that’s only after days spent driving on I-70 – which normally I’d be cheerfully crowing about, but these have been more like commutes than anything else, driving far simply to turn around and come back. Driving some place and coming home and driving to the same place again.
There’s little Love in my Life for repeated trips around the Beltway, and so I’m so grateful for this wadded mass of moisture, omnipresent and overhanging, blanketing the sun and more importantly the sound, and helping me pretend that those highways are further off than usual. The road is not calling. Simply the Lair.
After the Takoma Park Street Festival Kristen and I took the Long Way home and celebrated our wedding anniversary quietly with sushi and werewolves. I like that we have Our Place even if we share it with lots of others, and even if it involves severed fish heads at times.
