hazy dazy lazy.
an intelligent start to what promises to be a whole string of intelligent words. and by string i mean a knotted mess, tangled beyond any hope of untangling. spring was descending upon us quite beautifully, and then the snow decided to do one last encore. as it always does, every year. and every year we forget, and welcome anything above 2 degrees with open arms, open jackets, and even open patios. and then, the white powder snorts down on our little pretend-world, leaving us high & well, not very dry.
after all, this type of april shower will bring nary a flower. just an extra hour on the highway in traffic as we all trudge home for the holiday weekend. yes, home for the holidays - in my easter bonnet, i could write a sonnet. though i really haven't been much for poetry composition of late, something i'll have to remedy while i'm vacationing from real life.
what is it that makes us revert and regress as soon as we are under the roof of our parents?
i don't even have the excuse that it's the house i grew up in, and so it's like walking into the past. no, this house of "mine" is really just a facade. so any return to adolescent whine patrol is all my own fault. should i stay out past curfew and drink in the park? or stomp around hating my life, before locking myself in my room to listen to some life-changing grunge or grateful dead? so many options.
i think i'll probably just act like the outwardly grown up inwardly messy nerdling that i am, and write some poems, eat some gourmet, drink some red & think about spring. last minute snow spit, be damned.
it's coming, i know it is. and with it, a whole lot of who knows what.
an intelligent start to what promises to be a whole string of intelligent words. and by string i mean a knotted mess, tangled beyond any hope of untangling. spring was descending upon us quite beautifully, and then the snow decided to do one last encore. as it always does, every year. and every year we forget, and welcome anything above 2 degrees with open arms, open jackets, and even open patios. and then, the white powder snorts down on our little pretend-world, leaving us high & well, not very dry.
after all, this type of april shower will bring nary a flower. just an extra hour on the highway in traffic as we all trudge home for the holiday weekend. yes, home for the holidays - in my easter bonnet, i could write a sonnet. though i really haven't been much for poetry composition of late, something i'll have to remedy while i'm vacationing from real life.
what is it that makes us revert and regress as soon as we are under the roof of our parents?
i don't even have the excuse that it's the house i grew up in, and so it's like walking into the past. no, this house of "mine" is really just a facade. so any return to adolescent whine patrol is all my own fault. should i stay out past curfew and drink in the park? or stomp around hating my life, before locking myself in my room to listen to some life-changing grunge or grateful dead? so many options.
i think i'll probably just act like the outwardly grown up inwardly messy nerdling that i am, and write some poems, eat some gourmet, drink some red & think about spring. last minute snow spit, be damned.
it's coming, i know it is. and with it, a whole lot of who knows what.
posted by mad at 8:42 AM
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