August 31, 2011
Nothin’ but time.
There are few things I dislike. But I will tell you right now that the final day of August is one of them.
Hate it, hate it, hate it.
If I were Queen I would declare that summer is to last one more month. While I was at it, I’d also institute three-day weekends and clocks that make time stand still when so desired, so y’all may begin the civil revolution right now to get me on the throne as soon as possible, for everyone’s sake. Did I mention that every Wednesday would be free ice cream day?
By the end of each August in recent memory, I’m finally primed and ready for that precious stillness between the flow of summer’s socialness, and the push of the other three seasons’ urgency. It’s August, usually somewhere woefully late, like the final day of the second week, in which I stumble upon a certain, calm sweet spot: a slack tide in my work-intensive year that’s filled with promise, but untouched by stress. Such delight, yet so fleeting. Sigh.
So here I am, like one of these nicely balanced log-surfing birds, lining up my gulls in a row for the coming autumn, placing concerts and residencies and speaking gigs and meetings and travel travel travel indications in my calendar’s little white boxes, and wishing I were a lot farther down my naively giddy June list of “things to accomplish in this faaaaabulous gaping block of time I have in my studio this summer” than I actually am. Notes have somehow sneaked onto the page without me looking, but oh, if only I owned that clock! I’d use it. Maybe you would, too.
Well, at least I can go to the freezer for some ice cream. It’s Wednesday!
I’ll take two scoops of the chocolate herring flavor, please.