Thursday, February 18, 2010
The Sound of the Ocean
Sometimes you’ve got to blow off work. Sometimes a subtle reason is all you need to stay home. Like bad allergies, or a cold, or no reason at all. Some days were just not meant for writing code in an office without windows. My house is about a quarter-mile away from a back road that gets substantial morning traffic. It’s never congested, but there are frequently cars zipping along, on their way to work. Through the bedroom window, if you’re sleeping in on a weekday, they sound kind of like the ocean as they pass, just not as rhythmic and even. It’s kind of like cheap, miniature vacation ambiance. My allergies are acting up today. Frail, feeble, and failing, I’m in the rare mood to listen to bright smiling music to clear my head and make the most of my stolen day. Misery and commiseration are for work, not for home. As I comb through my CD collection, looking for optimistic music, I become acutely aware of what a depressing person I must be. I guess I need to work on that, not that I have any idea how you “work on” something like that. Oh well, fuck me. I settle on Iggy Pop, The Minutemen, Le Tigre, Jane’s Addiction, and Fugazi. Load up the CD carousel, put it on shuffle, and sit down on the couch with my laptop. The dog is sitting on the kitchen floor, in a bright square of sunshine. It’s her favorite thing to do. She loves to bask like an alligator on a hot rock. The warm sun helps her digest her breakfast, and she loves to nap in it. Today will be a good day despite my allergies, goddammit. Crumpled tissues pile up, all pregnant with snot, and I type and read and sketch, a narcotic joy overtaking me that I never want to end.