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I don't know if the motions of planets govern automobiles, but if they do then my Mercury's in some serious retrograde. Ten days ago, almost $400 needed to repair brakes; Friday, locked keys in car (thank god for AAA); last night, rear-ended another car in the rainy darkness of Concord. No one was hurt, and no one's claiming damages, so hopefully it'll just go away. But I'm feeling really shitty. Like I always thought I was a good driver, and now I have to entirely reevaluate this view. Today I drove like an old lady. But I still haven't ever gotten a speeding ticket. I am clinging to that for comfort.
It was dusk when I drove home from work today, and that felt monumentally wrong. It will be good to go back to Newport next week, and back to getting out at three. Three p.m. is such a lovely time to end one's day. It will be good to go back to Newport in general, because while Claremont is nice and the people are great I really just prefer the calm, comfortable quiet of my dear Newport office. The three-minute commute doesn't hurt either.
Rain rain rain rain rain. Sleepy, sleepy day. The only cd's in my player are Rachel's The Sea and the Bells and a long mix of stuff by Julie Doiron; it's rainy-day perfect and sad, and I may have listened to the two of them a dozen times in the past week, but such is the nature of my musical ruts. I may put in old-school Ani, though, and sing in the kitchen while I cook and try to shake off the shittiness, and the melancholy of this dark not-quite-real day, until there's television to watch, and I can sink deeply into blessed distraction, relief.
It was dusk when I drove home from work today, and that felt monumentally wrong. It will be good to go back to Newport next week, and back to getting out at three. Three p.m. is such a lovely time to end one's day. It will be good to go back to Newport in general, because while Claremont is nice and the people are great I really just prefer the calm, comfortable quiet of my dear Newport office. The three-minute commute doesn't hurt either.
Rain rain rain rain rain. Sleepy, sleepy day. The only cd's in my player are Rachel's The Sea and the Bells and a long mix of stuff by Julie Doiron; it's rainy-day perfect and sad, and I may have listened to the two of them a dozen times in the past week, but such is the nature of my musical ruts. I may put in old-school Ani, though, and sing in the kitchen while I cook and try to shake off the shittiness, and the melancholy of this dark not-quite-real day, until there's television to watch, and I can sink deeply into blessed distraction, relief.