Monday, June 09, 2008

Draft Dodging

Belly-up one morning (this one morning), breakfasted stoutly on oats & apricots, thoughts and feelin's swimming, still half-asleep, short two mouthfuls, even leaving a gulp at mug's bottom (to make a rim). Rose, rinsed, showered, scrubbed, caught glimpse, winced. Nosed in cautiously, cursed hairdresser, pulled up socks, galloped, peered again, lost in eyes, furrowed, cleared throat, spoke, monologued, singing. Lost. Smoked clean cotton-bud, loosing it smoothly from its packet. Gazed at window right, then wall left. Alarm. Rose, rinsed, breakfasted. Cracked knuckles, smoothing the page. Waited.

Lunch, lounging. Sang with great gusto and clunky plonking, the latter in tune, neither in time. Shampoo, very thorough. Perfectly dry, cracked window. Needled my way to bed, shut off the light, pulling the covers and fondling the pillow. Light flooded. Alarm. Repositioned pillow, rolled out, palming eyes. Stretched, stumbled, showered. Studied fridge. Methodically ground beans. Pleasing gurgle from stove, shook milk vainly. Black. Hovered fingers. Gazed at window right, looked deeply into the ceiling, not at. Pushed off socks. Fell. Telephone. Speaking? Did you say feelings? No, I don't have any; sorry. Replaced.

The gaggle hollering somewhere inside, I waited, eventually to knock. Hug, hug, hug, like three bullets. Escaped. Hawthorn, eating. Rose-tinted glasses framed the night (that portion of it). Water beating down, not quite warm enough. Two strangers smiled, seemingly genuine. Key shivering towards the lock, missing a third time. Sliding off shoes, suspenders. Porcelain, a brush, needled back to bed. Knuckles cracking, alarm blaring, sneezed alphabetti spaghetti triptych, conked, Michael Caine, across the page. Escaped. Soap to armpits, singing. Grimaced, winced, laughed. Propped pillow across the table, chatted (mostly me). Stood back, considered. Unsatisfied. Finished.


Kathryn said...

Dodging work is all too easy. Pity there's no PhD awarded for procrastination.

Hugh said...

Hm? No, nothing looming. I was just using the title as license for laziness (and to go to bed). It oddly turned out somewhat more coherent than I'd intended.

Kathryn said...

Good to hear, but not what I meant. The post captures the repetitiveness of the daily cycle, and the distractions which punctuate it.

Hugh said...

I've been dangling this line for three years; I was bound to catch something sooner or later.