Melancholy is sadness that has taken on lightness
Today, I've been making up for lost (okay, freely given) time. Filling up. Sorting through. Trying to make a dollar out of ninety-nine cents. Music has been sharp on my ears - every lyric a prick to the skin, even as I pound the buttons to keep the sting coming; keep it edged. You're so far under my skin, all my connective tissue must smell like you at this point.
And still it comes - the waiting eagerly for Rhee's return, the barrage of well-wishes and post-holiday salutations and promises of delicious moments on the horizon - of axemen and deserts and ceiling paint. Of cabbages, and kings. The return of a self that obeys gravity, and not just to fall. Inspirations to action. Compulsions to engage.
My to-do list reads like the E.U. constitution, and I've got to sort out this new Treo to make it work. Wish me luck...I'm going to try to use this upcoming.org module to make sure I see more of all of you, so don't be shy about chasing me down.