Secret Pop

Jan 5, 2003

Dragging of the Feet

I'm so tired all the time. I haven't felt well-rested in months. Sleep has just become something else to do. I went out to pick up my photographs today. It was beautiful out. I stopped by Walgreen's to buy some uninteresting supplies. A woman at the door held a small crochet purse out at me and mumbled something. I kept walking. When I left, she was in the parking lot, making the same unintelligible pitch. I made a stop at the newsstand and bought music magazines and things that looked worth reading. When I returned to my car, she was right there again. I kept ignoring her. I thought, She looks like she's doing all right. She's got a sweater and a handbag and an armload of purchases from the 99 Cents Only store. I think she's asking for five dollars, which is a bit grand for panhandling. And if she's trying to sell that coin purse for that amount, she's cracked.

Each time I ignored her, she said something that sounded like, "God bless you." But I had a feeling she was being sarcastic.

It's warm out, but my apartment is chilly. I put a fire on and allowed TNN to fill my living room with the dulcet tones of the Star Trek: The Next Generation marathon they're running. It's the episode where Ryker gets the power of the Q. What's funny is that Ryker grants Wesley Crusher his greatest desire, which is to be ten years older -- a man. And then -- poof! He's this big, strong Sears model-type guy. But it's been ten years since this episode, and Wil Wheaton still looks like the same dork he was back then. Ha ha. And then the hot Klingon chick appears for Worf. Blah blah blah. They all realize they would rather not have what they most want. How noble and wise and advanced they are. Gah! This is such a Twilight Zone-inspired crock.

I was never much of a fan of Ryker-centric episodes. And it's a Deep Space Nine marathon I'm pining for. But my first season DVD set is pre-ordered, so I can feign patience for now. Plus, I have work to do and no excuses. Save for distraction.

For instance, I always frowned on the use of "Plus," as a sentence opener. I think it was most displeasing to me in the days when I wrote catalog copy. I don't know why. It's no less functional than any synonym of it. But for some reason, it seemed lazy to me. I'm a snob like that. I'm glad I am also able to outgrow things.

If only my stream of consciousness would accidentally dump me on the threshold of my current project. Instead, I feel myself being drawn toward that massive stack of still-cellophaned DVDs in my living room. Oh, they want watching, don't they? And maybe I should make some soup. And I really ought to clean my floors. And it's never too soon to get started on your taxes. And I can't remember if I like the way I looked in that one pair of pants. Why don't I go retry them?

No comments: