The final fine fall day of the season

According to the Kathy Wurzer on MPR, today is the final fine fall day of the season. By tomorrow, a cold front will have swept in. Snow flurries by Thursday? I wouldn't put it past this state.

The weekend was gorgeous but I didn't manage to step outside my apartment until Sunday afternoon. I could see it all happening outside my well-positioned windows--maple leaves, hipsters wandering up and down the detritus to brunch and record stores--and I could smell it as well--that lovely dried leaf mulch smell. But I didn't leave, couldn't leave.

I'll be honest with you folks. There's a black hole in my life. It hides just outside the stellar sphere. At my nadir, it ropes me in and I'll be gone for a few days as I wander through a particularly messy patch. After this weekend I've emerged with congested sinuses and chemical burns on the tip of my nose. Outside the window, a consommé: The Secret's stealthy stalking from the backseat, directing his chauffeur as I climb up the brick stairs of a tricky poem, stubbing my fucking toe on a line and tossing the whole mess into the fire, the unread novel of my life, just sitting there on the night stand, gathering a fine layer of dust--all the places I should be right now, all the people I should be knowing at this very moment. The constant oblivion of the black hole is so much easier. I wonder if I'm just not strong enough? How could I be if my psyche, at the slightest threat to it's supremacy, capitulates so quickly to this kind of coma? No one has the answers. Perhaps I'm just not up to the task.

Ah, I feel better today. I blow out the sputum and move on. The poems finish themselves; I move on. The Secret stops calling; I move on. Let's hope the only casualty is the final fine fall day of the season.

Posted by jason at October 12, 2024 08:02 AM