2015/ltr

Once again last night I did not sleep well so this morning I tried to find easy ways to elevate my energy and my mood, eliminating my baggy jeans for my only skinny jeans, the softest jeans I own, wearing my favorite color olive green, changing up my necklace from usual pendant, and adding a silk scarf which I typically dispense with at home. It seemed to help but was impotent in the face of Mercury retrograde annoyances that were lurking – beginning with my old computer finally meeting its demise, strange patterns on the screen which none of my efforts impacted, including removing the battery.
I was on my way to my studio with the intention of listening to an audio stored on its desktop, my last glue stick in my book bag so I could finally glue down the collage I started assembling months ago, my semi-delicates – I’ll call them carefuls – which haven’t fully dried in the last two days in my hands to be put in the dryer that doesn’t dry as harshly as the one in the house, a cup of mint tea in my oversize cup that boasts Arroyo Grande’s zipcode and slogan, “Nice town, normal people” that goes with my oversize desk coaster, which is really an ashtray I got at Mrs. Hernandez’s yard sale after the fire – the widow of the man who credits himself with inventing the margarita and I do believe he is the rightful heir to that throne.
I was carrying my book bag full with literary magazines, a file of poems, a notebook, the usual detris that comes and goes from studio to house and back again, my new computer in its over-priced bag with a bright pink lining and handle that makes me feel like a sixth grader on my way to school, and thinking how over laden I was, even more so than usual.
Outside my studio is a plastic Adirondack chair bequeathed by the former owner where I was planning to sit and read through work or whatever it took to justify sitting outside in the sun. It is typical that I sit my beverage on its arm while I unlock the door and as I went to do so I spilled the tea all over the right sleeve of my jacket. Once inside I realized it was also down the book bag, composition book, file of poems, lit mags, the lot of it wet. Everything was removed and spread out on the chair to dry, dousing my dream of sunny leisure. When I took out the new computer it too was wet, along with the pink lining of the bag. The machine seemed safe and the bag got wiped out and put in the chair as well.
I realized then that I did not know how to get my email in the new machine and finally that it had never been set up. Next I realized I did not know how to create a sub-directory for the new year in my ancient word processing software I keep trying to hang on to which works differently in the new machine. The old method didn’t work.
At this point the scarf which was intended to avert suicide was on the brink of causing it, scarves being ill-suited as they are for laundry and spilling and wiping and drying.

1/21/15