|
I am sitting under the open window, keyboard at hand. The breeze falls in upon me through the open window; it is refreshingly cool after a long, hot, humid day. As it sometimes happens, the weather perfectly matched the tone of the day. The day was long, as most unpleasant days are. The day was hot, as most times marked by friction are. The day was humid, as most cloying, living nightmares are. The day is over, and I wish that I could say as much for the events of the day. Like the weather, times of difficulty break, then return in their season. I will sleep long and deeply this night, dreaming of fair weather. I do not want to recount the events that transpired today. All here are alive and will live to see another day and another challenge. I will share a piece I wrote several years ago, while serving my time in a dungeon, while working for a very large company. The company lunch area was a room in a lower basement, without windows, with one door, and two flickering neon lights. Writing was a way to survive being lost without a lifeboat in that sea of mediocrity.
|
RECIPES :: Cast |
Page by Page: A Woman's Journal
|