Wednesday, April 12, 2006


David Byrne sings along to my little oscillating heater, the vibrations of the passing commuter train, the sound of water on for coffee. It's 9:00 am.

I place a wet dish in the rack, narrow my eyes and think forcefully, "ugh. Fight." This has nothing to do with coffee, or maybe only a little to do with it. Or with Byrne either. It's about slipping and losing ground and then remembering where I was going. About getting mad and hitting the futon mattress, and thinking "Yes. I need to get mad more often."

My brother wrote about his temper. Reading his blog I am reminded that I don't have a temper. Maybe its time to cultivate one. I get mad like my Mum did: suddenly, coldly, seemingly inexplicably. Only after something has gone on way too long and my indignation finally rises to consciousness and I think, "That's it. I don't want to see your face anymore. Go away." As if a door had finally slammed shut inside myself.

I want to get mad quickly, hotly, like a passing thunderstorm. Welcome anger earlier, let it ride the surface, rain, pour, pelt. I am too much a clear sky, and my anger cool overcast days that drag on too long, too quietly.

1 comment:

Lucy said...

the painting was done by Nostalgia, at her family's dacha back in Russia