Kage Baker sometimes declared that some days were just … gone. Wasted. The sun comes out too late and watery to do one any good, and yet the weather will not do anything hearty. Like rain.
Rain would be nice. It would give me an excuse to go back to bed.
Kage called this condition “mumping.” She would announce her condition of, and intention to, mump, and then bundle up in a lap robe and watch cartoons. She never went back to bed – that was for weanies. She just mumped in place. “I am a mump bud,” she would declare. Thouogh when she got into her 30’s, she decided maturity called upon her to become a mump blossom, instead.
Apparently, a mump blossom looks like a cross between a squash blossom and a used datura flower.
I am a mump blossom to day; one that’s going to seed. It’s a slightly grey, sort of chilly, vaguely sad day. My experiments with a new oatmeal and the microwave resulted in paving the oven with semi-congealed rolled oats. The parrot insisted on eating my yoghurt. Lou Reed might be dead but probably isn’t. He’s always been tricky … I missed the observance of St. Crispian’s Day two days ago. Halloween is in 4 days, Novel In A Month begins in 5 days, Dickens Fair Rehearsals begins in 6 days: and I am not ready for anything. But in 3 days, I have a lovely doctor’s appointment to complain that my diabetes meds are not working and my blood sugar is still too high – and I haven’t even gotten into the Halloween candy. Yet.
The Esselene Indians (whom I am supposed to be researching today) had a tribal saying: Xue elo xonia eune. “I come from the rock.”
Yeah, me, too. And now I’m gonna crawl back under mine.