Mindless Dribble

Temporary Freedom

klingus — Tue, 10 May 2011 00:35:31 +0000

Folk music was meant to be played outside. It blends so flawlessly with birds chirping and rustling leaves and accentuates sunset colors. After a day of constant rush and vigilant eyes it is impossible to describe how freeing this moment is.

Dastardly Insecurities

klingus — Thu, 05 May 2011 01:37:06 +0000

I used to think that my problem was not obtaining the correct shade of red lipstick. As I grow older, and cast aside tube after tube of crimson and scarlet and other such hues, I am beginning to realize that perhaps it is not the lipstick but a distinct lack of confidence that keeps me from imagined glamor.

So tired…

klingus — Tue, 03 May 2011 02:35:15 +0000

You are tired,

(I think)

Of the always puzzle of living and doing;

And so am I.

Come with me, then,
And we’ll leave it far and far away—
(Only you and I, understand!)

You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and—
Just tired.
So am I.

But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And I knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—
Open to me!
For I will show you places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.

Ah, come with me!
I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I’ll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.

- e.e. cummings

The Mysterious Cusp

klingus — Tue, 12 Apr 2011 01:02:47 +0000

Breathe, Kelly. Something brilliant is in the making.

I cannot stop repeating this phrase over in my head. It started wafting through my open car window on the short drive to our cozy town library this evening after a day filled with sighs and rolled eyes. Something in the Universe is pressing me forward and tantalizing my underwhelmed state of being. There are no great ideas jumbling about in my conscious thoughts, but perhaps behind a boulder of boredom lies a packet of spontaneous genius that will not only get me out of this emotional cesspool but fling me, willingly, into the sky all the while coaxing silvery fairy wings to emerge from my shoulder blades and assist me in my newfound endeavors. If not wings, perhaps a sprinkling of pixie dust will do.

…but my arms are beginning to hurt…

klingus — Sat, 09 Apr 2011 02:37:06 +0000

This song put a smile on my face, and speaks more truth than I would like to admit.

Hang on Little Tomato

by Pink Martini

The sun has left and forgotten me
It’s dark, I cannot see
Why does this rain pour down
I’m gonna drown
In a sea
Of deep confusion

Somebody told me, I don’t know who
Whenever you are sad and blue
And you’re feelin’ all alone and left behind
Just take a look inside and you’ll find

You gotta hold on, hold on through the night
Hang on, things will be all right
Even when it’s dark
And not a bit of spark

Sing-song sunshine from above
Spreading rays of sunny love

Just hang on, hang on to the vine
Stay on, soon you’ll be divine
If you start to cry, look up to the sky
Something’s coming up ahead
To turn your tears to dew instead

And so I hold on to his advice
When change is hard and not so nice
You listen to your heart the whole night through
Your sunny someday will come one day soon to you

Ranunculus

klingus — Tue, 05 Apr 2011 00:20:06 +0000

Yesterday, while on a mission to buy dog food, I found the flower love of my life resting cheerfully on a cart among other bright and beautiful flowers. I have yet to name it (as I tend to name everything else I own), but I think he/she is quite stunning. Any name suggestions??

Perhaps

klingus — Tue, 29 Mar 2011 01:24:27 +0000

Somehow I managed to navigate the tawny-colored sludge of Monday grumpiness unscathed and smiling.

Was it listening to Pandora in my car while drawing? Dropping from nine, to eight, to seven to three children in a matter of ninety minutes? Being able to go home fifteen minutes early? The sun brushing golden streaks against rolling hills on my drive home?

Perhaps it was being reminded of The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. I simply cannot decide.

Also, the name puce needs to be re-assigned to a more unnerving color.

In the Mudroom of the Well

klingus — Wed, 23 Mar 2011 23:55:57 +0000

It has been a long week for me, albeit only Wednesday evening. Were I to guess how this week would be orchestrated, I would have selected a different composer, or perhaps a better instrument. All began on Friday morning when our little Barbie enthusiast chose to lay down on the floor instead of cross-dressing Ken and making everyone kiss. She had a fever of 102 and we sent her home. A classic early spring daycare tale. It was only after the diagnosis arrived via her grandmother that I raised an eyebrow. She had strep.

Enter Saturday evening. The room was filled with wonderfully intelligent people, and despite the lively conversation I found myself suddenly realizing that the raspberry lemonade I was casually sipping felt rough going down my throat. I was told I was being overly paranoid and that it was most likely allergies that were making things a bit uncomfy. As the evening progressed, however, aches began to arrive in my lower back and hips. My hips don’t lie (in the sickness department, at least), and I was sure something was about to go down.

Sunday morning proved my point, and by 1 in the afternoon I had nestled into my covers with a fever of over 101 and an incredibly raspy, burny throat. After a brave attempt at “waiting it out” Monday, I eventually made a Dr. appointment for the following morning. Upon recounting my symptoms to the PA, she said it sounded like I did indeed have strep but she would examine me just to be sure. Everything checked out fine, no clogged ears, exceptional nostrils (I’m ad-libbing here) and then the clincher: my throat. I opened wide and she shone her flashlight inside. ”OH MY WORD!” she exclaimed, recoiling back in surprise. ”You told me you had a sore throat, not this!” It was then affirmed that I had a textbook case of strep throat and was given the appropriate medication to eradicate it. I was also given instructions to spend another day at home so as to thwart contagious behaviors.

It is now the eve of said “final” day at home, and despite the petri dish that still resides in my over-generous tonsils I am feeling pretty great. The wonders of antibiotics, I suppose. It is up to tomorrow for me to decide if I am really ready to cross into that luxurious mansion of the healthy or if I’d rather be more comfortable in the mudroom for a while longer.

Rainy Day Bliss

klingus — Thu, 10 Mar 2011 01:56:20 +0000

I do not know if I could sing enough praises for rainy days. Most folks just don’t get it. I can open my eyes wide, throw my head back and embrace the sweet drops of heavenly rain without fear of a headache or sunburn on my pale cheeks. Everything is cozier and bookstores send their sweet siren sound waves to beat in time with my windshield wipers. If only I were not tied to the mast of responsibility and the watchful eye of my bank account. I would gladly fall victim to an afternoon spent among words.

Blessed

klingus — Tue, 08 Mar 2011 01:01:42 +0000

Such an appropriate song for a Monday evening chock full of pre-spring optimism. Now, if only I can adhere to the message…

Blessed by Brett Dennen

I welcome the sun,
the clouds and rain,
the wind that sweeps the sky clean
and lets the sun shine again.
this is the most magnificent life has ever been.
here is heaven and earth
and the brilliant sky in between.
blessed is this life
and I’m gonna celebrate being alive.
blessed is this life
and I’m gonna celebrate being alive
I dwell in the darkness
I live in the light
I sleep in the afternoon
and become the noise in the night
I trespass in temptation
suffered in sacrifice
but I awake each day with a new sunrise
blessed is this life, oh
and I’m gonna celebrate being alive
blessed is this life, oh
and I’m gonna celebrate being alive