Haikus for a rainy day

Cloudy grey morning
Chilly wind nips at my nose
Yep, it's October

Rain, capricious wind
Colorful fabric mushrooms
Turning inside out

The rain keeps falling
Through capillary action
Up my trouser legs

Cold, muddy, soggy,
Nothing like a good sweater
And some nice warm socks

(No such luck for me
I don't have any clean socks
It's laundry tonight)

(Quite unfortunate,
Shameful predicament
For the Archduchess)

A stack of paper
Clamors for my attention
All of them homework

Perfect fall weather
If only I had some milk
To make hot cocoa

Meditation

Mexico seen from the catwalk of the second telescope of Observatory In The Mountains, September 26th, 2009

Looking at this image clears my mind. I can feel the wind blowing my thoughts and worries away as I stand on the summit of the tallest mountain around, enveloped by the endless sky and the land all around, closer to the stars than ever.

No one else exists in that moment.

An explanation? No. A cop-out? Maybe.

I have come to regard my writing as an indicator of how I feel.


I haven't written in weeks.


The second and third parts of the trip lie in my draft folder, unfinished and unsatisfying. I've promised emails and letters and postcards, but those are either nonexistent or blank pages or one-sided pictures.

Sure, I've written things. Things I had to turn in for a grade, things bureaucracy demanded. But not things I wanted to write, things no one made me write.

I'm sitting here, sick again, with a pounding headache and nothing but the longing to go to sleep, like I've done all weekend and yearned to all week. I have worked without a moment's respite for weeks on end, and it is starting again tomorrow.

I miss my family, I miss France, I miss the past, the future, I miss all sorts of things I can't have. I miss The Boy, whom I won't see until March and haven't seen since August fourth, I miss my little cousin, whom I pushed around in her pram and is now entering sixth grade, with whom I have spent a total of two months in the past six years. I miss people I won't ever see, people who've forgotten me.

I feel like I can't do anything right, like I'm not dependable anymore or even never really was, like I whine too much and annoy people constantly.

I tried to think of something happy, to play the Glad Game, but for once there was nothing.

I guess life just is ordinary sometimes. Sometimes, there isn't anything exciting.

I have trouble accepting that.

Some part of my brain, the logical and analytical part, tells me that the sheer number of times I've used "I" in this post is enough to give last year's Psychology professor a field day, that I really ought to do something about it. That part gives me advice, like I give advice to people all the time, but I won't follow it because, overall, I am a hypocrite and never follow my own advice.