I have been utterly listless of late. I think it is the rain.
I love a good solid downpour that (this being LA) coats everything with a fresh slick of grime and heightens the acrid smell of dog piss that clouds every conceivable sidewalk and corner hedgerow. But, when it rains for days on end and everything becomes damp and moldy regardless of how high you turn up the heat, and the cats keep traipsing muddy paw prints over ever available surface, the situation simply becomes too tedious to bear.
I can't write, I can't sleep, I can't draw, I'm irritable, and cranky. I'm hungry, but I'm not hungry, I can't go for a walk because, well, it's raining; I'm wired from drinking too much coffee, but I'm still thirsty. I tell myself I'm suffering from 'writer's block' to justify the weeks of inactivity, but of course that is just ridiculous bumph masquerading for the fact that I'm overwhelmed by 'ennui' - a stultifying boredom simply exacerbated by the rain.
Finally deciding a glass of ice water should jolt me out of my stupor I head to the fridge and reach in for the ice trays only to find that they are both almost empty but for a few half-melted soldiers gallantly clinging to the frosty corners of their little igloo homes. Suddenly I'm transported back fifteen years. It's one of those breathlessly hot summer days when even the flies nagging furiously at the closed window pane is enough to generate a sweat. My sister and I used to spend those beautiful summers lolling around watching endless t.v. or reading one novel after another till my brain felt like it would explode; drinking long cold drinks and snacking on the feasts only a parent-stocked pantry could possibly spew forth. This was all to the utter chagrin of my step-father who felt that, as most teenagers before us, we should be earning our keep in the muck infested dairy. His displeasure was further aggravated on returning from an exhausting, labor intensive day to find EMPTY ice-trays. At the time I could never understand all the fuss. Today, standing in the middle of my kitchen, empty ice tray in hand my heart goes out to the poor man.
No wonder he was always so distempered!
So, this week's life lesson...fill the ice-trays people!
A.
