Mark Time

Mercury is in retrograde for the next month, and as a sun sign ruled by this planet, I will blame every "misfortune" on its movement. Minor annoyances have become highlighted, is all.

Spring semester is now begun, and I start each week with six hours of work study. I open doors for people and shuffle papers and smile at unsure freshmen. I choreograph my own thought patterns and research within the small bustle of this office. 

I have a blank wall waiting for notes; begging, you see. I have finally received Random Access Memories, so "Daft Punk Syndrome" mapping is in full attention. As is Taylor Swift and her mirror-like quality.

Moving is easy. Hand over hand is a predictable way to know the world is moving forward. It is under my control, this situation, and it will soar because I am giving it attention.

But waiting?

Diagnostic

More green tea matcha, what a world needs. 

Four projects from the master list in-progress, nearly all are housecleaning and strictly cosmetic. I've been swallowing House M.D. episodes as of late, the same disorganized gnat presenting himself periodically. I find myself salivating over House's think sessions, wanting the same filtered light and intense obsession. 

Blessed amounts of alone time are longer than they appear. I deflect with the notion that soon the semester will begin, where sleepless nights are justified. Yet, objection rises minutes later when I am reminded the jail cell ends come this May...

Yes, I am still making things from muslin. No, I am not sleeping any easier.