Kage Baker used to wryly paraphrase that old saw about the weather into Don’t like the world? Invent a new one.
Easier said than done, unless you were her. Kage could not only do it – sometimes on a moment’s notice, as we rolled down some road – she could both people and inhabit it by sheer force of will. A few minutes of thought, a soliloquy or two about some weird founder or eldritch folk custom, and she’d be off. Within a few miles I’d either be yelling for her to stop (because it was simply too weird and gave me the heebie-jeebies) or she’d be making notes for a new story. Sometimes both.
Today, the world did not please me much. Too hot, too smoggy, the sky over the basin not only greyed out with left over fog but regularly violated by noisy Navy helicoptors. I’m glad the President likes to come here, but I live under a main helicopter route, and it gets to be a drag when they fly over making the windows shake and the dogs howl for the 6th time in a day.
The news is full of political hatred, lies and rage; people I care about keep dying. That serves to remind me about all the people I don’t even know who are also doubtless kicking the old jam jar (as Kage liked to phrase it) and that is just depressing. I’ve been spiking another annoying FOO – especially wretched in hot weather, I might add – and been dealing with shortness of breath, swollen feet and aching kidneys. With bad grace and no patience, I must confess, so even I can’t stand to be around me.
The parrot has been fractious, singing in his monster voice and telling raucous unintelligible jokes to The Thing Behind The Chair. The corgi wants to rub his enormous hot flannelly ears on my knees. The little black cat has metamorphosed into a fur rug and taken over the center of my bed. I can’t seem to locate any heroism or grandeur anywhere.
I’m too tired and cranky to even read. I just can’t find a world I want to inhabit …
But I am getting a post in before midnight, even if is is basically a cranky bitch-fest. I’ll turn on the overhead fan soon and go to bed, and try to grow some discipline overnight. Then I can maybe write some world I like better.
It was always Kage’s solution.
Kathleen, when I feel like that I try to remember to pull out Judith Viorst’s children’s book, The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, a book I read to Kate and Terry often in their childhood. Being beyond average children and Faire Brats to boot, their view on life was different from most of their peer’s view and it got them into trouble with teachers and friends. At this point, even mentioning the name of the book can bring their day around. They may both be getting a copy for Christmas this year, just to chase the blues away. (I’m sure you can find a copy for your Kindle.)
Yesterday was one of those days I really appreciated being at work: a clean, well-lighted and centrally air conditioned room, even if it is a festival of cubicles with clear if not very exciting this week work to do. Although I work smack in the middle of downtown, I had picked up both breakfast and a lunch salad from Groundwork, and never had to leave the building. Home, even with our practically new room air conditioner–which is too far from my desk to be really helpful–was a misery. When I opened the file to finally get some revision done this week, I couldn’t even remember where in the story I had left off. So I’m right there with you, kiddo. All I can think is: when we welcomed in the summer on May Eve–what were we thinking!?
Linn – my gosh, how did I never read this before? I did indeed find it for my Kindle, downloaded it and dove right in. It’s wonderful! I may have found a new anthem.
Re: Faire kids. Yeah, it can get hard for them at school – especially middle school. My nephew Michael faced problems that astonished me – and I was not exactly on good terms with my teachers, myself. But at least I didn’t think history was family anecdotes and correct the teachers … I think sometimes all that exposure to witty, reflexive improv might not have served our children best when they had to deal with authority figures.
Maggie – we welcomed Summer in because we forgot (just as we always do!) what the bugger looks like when you wake up beside His snoring, unshaven self on the Monday-after-the-weekend-before, and have to go to work. And you can’t find your underwear, and you realize they are for unguessable reasons IN His pants pocket, and you vividly remember – now, much too late – that you have no money for a quick drive through coffee or lunch because you spent it last night playing Strip Whack-a-Mole with Him …