thaw

The January thaw's come every year that I can remember, when the snow evaporates leaving behind hillocks of rust-inducing salt. I'm shedding layers on the lunchbreak walk downtown, attempting to resurrect my creative writing side of my brain, wanting to walk down to the lake to gather driftwood to do something with. I was getting frustrated with my landlady and the pile of junk in the driveway that keeps me from parking my car in the spot I lease, though she's at least making some concessions that keep me from contemplating moving and feeling sick of moving all the time, dreading the thought of lugging records and books up stairs yet again especially since this neighborhood has been so good to me.


The thaw reminds me that winter is not forever, though these months have been so mild when they're not screwball. Some friends are leaving for Jordan and it's blizzarded there but not here, and I'm contemplating garden plans for the coming year, hoping I can get a bigger plot for more kale, more peas, more peppers, more basil, more sunflowers.

I was on an operating table this morning getting my earlobe stitched back together, conscious, hearing the instruments, feeling the needle going in and out, it didn't hurt then, it itches now, I didn't watch. I can't imagine why women would do this in more invasive ways or anyone for that matter. I kept trying to distract myself and felt half asleep until I took a walk this afternoon and converged with some of my garden folk and then glazed pottery for awhile. It felt like a Saturday and then I realize I have a whole extra day off tomorrow and it's supposed to be nice out. I think I need more escapes from the Slab more often. And more live music. Though that seems to be starting to happen early on this year.