Tuesdays...
12/23/03 11:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alasanon...run rampant over the rainclouds in rippling sheets, wishing they could pretend to be ghosts.
But I have no sheet, and I am already a ghost.
I was reading today, a book that I had not read in years. I found it just yesterday when I was out looking for gifts for people and finding only cards and ideas and empty contemplation. And the book, of course.
I remember being in sixth or eighth (or was it later...? tenth?) grade and reading this book over and over because I was so over Stephen King and hated John Saul with a passion and who else was there for running ass-backwards over the fields of horror with but this book, the one book by this author that the library had, a book of semi-precious short stories and one gaudy novella that was one of my early introductions to the dramatized porn industry. (Oh, surely it was eighth grade. In the library of Eckstein Middle School during rainy lunch hours alone...?) I've been idly looking for it among the stacks of the local used book stores for a little while now, and to see it sitting there so innocently on the shelf in the basement past the winding stair seemed almost impossible. But it's here, it's in my backpack, I read it today, so it obviously wasn't.
Some of the stories have aged well, and others have not. I liked different stories more this time around, and other stories that left me quivering and putting the book down when I was twelve or thirteen now leave me a little bored.
But there is a quickness to almost all of them that I like, a speed and furor that makes me not notice the time boiling on over into the past; makes it a good timekiller for public places and peaceful hours.
Time passing.
Time passing.
Time, passing.
It's almost then end of Tuesday, isn't it? Soon Wednesday will take up the well-worn seat at the head of the table and begin to rule. What will become of Tuesday then? Will it wait patiently for next week, when the year will come to its final hour and the clock will chime out? Of course not. Tuesday is never patient and always leaps into place well ahead of time.
Very well then, hours. Move on and up and out, and soon we will be asleep again.
But I have no sheet, and I am already a ghost.
I was reading today, a book that I had not read in years. I found it just yesterday when I was out looking for gifts for people and finding only cards and ideas and empty contemplation. And the book, of course.
I remember being in sixth or eighth (or was it later...? tenth?) grade and reading this book over and over because I was so over Stephen King and hated John Saul with a passion and who else was there for running ass-backwards over the fields of horror with but this book, the one book by this author that the library had, a book of semi-precious short stories and one gaudy novella that was one of my early introductions to the dramatized porn industry. (Oh, surely it was eighth grade. In the library of Eckstein Middle School during rainy lunch hours alone...?) I've been idly looking for it among the stacks of the local used book stores for a little while now, and to see it sitting there so innocently on the shelf in the basement past the winding stair seemed almost impossible. But it's here, it's in my backpack, I read it today, so it obviously wasn't.
Some of the stories have aged well, and others have not. I liked different stories more this time around, and other stories that left me quivering and putting the book down when I was twelve or thirteen now leave me a little bored.
But there is a quickness to almost all of them that I like, a speed and furor that makes me not notice the time boiling on over into the past; makes it a good timekiller for public places and peaceful hours.
Time passing.
Time passing.
Time, passing.
It's almost then end of Tuesday, isn't it? Soon Wednesday will take up the well-worn seat at the head of the table and begin to rule. What will become of Tuesday then? Will it wait patiently for next week, when the year will come to its final hour and the clock will chime out? Of course not. Tuesday is never patient and always leaps into place well ahead of time.
Very well then, hours. Move on and up and out, and soon we will be asleep again.
