Bring to a Boil

It feels like a long time since I've posted here, and not for want of things to post about. But life has gotten life-y, like it does, and it seems that, in the time I usually stop to think "hey, I could write about that thing I've been meaning to pontificate to the internet about," I've ended up thinking "hey, I could write about that thing, but I have ONE MILLION OTHER THINGS TO DO OH GOD." Not that it's a good excuse, but it's what's been happening.

The show I'm working right now (right at this very minute, actually - and there are few things better than sitting in the dark, at work, updating your sex blog) has a monologue where a character talks about cooking, reads a poem, sort of, about cooking, using only verb phrases from recipe books. It's lovely, and sort of fitting for what I have time/energy for here. So, instead of "bring to a boil/season/taste," here's a little verb-phrase stream of consciousness about what's been happening lately, with more detail to come once I'm over the hump (a week or so, probably).

It seems fitting, in part because lately, it's felt like there's so much to do, so many actions to complete and get done and accomplish, that there's no space to be at all.

Profound, eh?

Here goes nothin.

A Verb-Phrase Poem That Turned Out To Just Be A Poem (or; It's Been A Very Long Time Since I've Put Poetry On The Internet. Fuck It).

Shiver
It's getting colder, this northwest winterdark
And he's leaving
To where the cold doesn't compare
To where here huddle weather
Is bask on the porch
Is linger in the evenings
To where here snuggle down deep
Is cast off the blankets and breathe luxurious. 

I study study
Move the money
Pay the bills
Study study
Change the names and the schools and the fonts and the format
Make it perfect
(never actually, but as perfect as you can stand
given the time
given the sleep)
Submit
Tick it off the list
And another
And another. 

Date, have a date
Timing, and it's like fun
But with a clock ticking
Because the seconds when he is home
And you are not
Are limited.
And they're limited anyway,
But the scope so much smaller now,
A more visible finite. 

Make the paperwork
Schedule the calls
No, we don't have that yet
Yes, I can find a replacement
No, I can't
Yes, I'll figure it out
Yes, no, I'll check on that later
(remember to check on that later)
Theater magic
On my hands and knees
In the sawdust, in the paydirt
(which pays sometimes enough)
Much less fun
That kneeling and feeling like this
Usually means. 

The weary ends of days
Forgotten kisses at the door
Remembered, meeting in the hallway
After notes, after applications, after props and run lists,
After a wash and a brush and after
Everything is charging
And most things are clean
And some things are folded
And none of the dishes are done,
Take a minute
Keep your eyes open
Like a prize, forget all of it.
Because in light of this
In this light
The rest slips away like easy, like letting.
And just live in it, the touch, his mouth,
What your body can be under his fingers.
And for a moment
Remember: this is home.

That was less explanatory than I thought it would be. Oh well!