Lost Language

From an emotional standpoint, I'm washed up. To quote Mana, "bien tostada" ("completely toasted"). I was listening to a very interesting segment on NPR yesterday about metaphor and cliche. A discussion on how much metaphor we use unconsciously ("I see what you mean!") and how the great metaphors are quickly reduced to cliche (the Iron Curtain) The speaker's premise was that the re-use of metaphors shows lack of originality and that we should seek the new metaphor in our writing. What a very lovely sentiment. I'll get started with that. Tomorrow, OK? In the meantime, I plan to wander lonely as a cloud; to kick my can a little farther down the road; to keep my nose to the grindstone.

This weekend, I have lost my language; well, at least the better bits of it. I am so drained that I can feel the way each one of my joints is strung. My tummy has freaky red splotches on it. It's sadness again, but a different kind. February has been a long month. An endless month. How many more days of February do we have? OK, I remember the plan: work, service, fun, friends, change your life.

I think that, for today, I"ll give "change your life" a rest. It has been well-served this weekend.

Friends? I wanna talk, but I don't wanna talk. I would love it if one of my friends would call me with a problem. I'm tired of my problems.

Fun? Service? Work? Play is over for a while. Work is going to have to be my solace today. Nothing like conquering a hefty to-do list when life is a bummer:

1. Housework;
2. Guadalupe paperwork;
3. Finish painting Sara's room, replace all the curtain rods, etc... and get her moved back in.
4. Nate needs to fashion a "time capsule" shaped like an old wooden bucket, for a school book report;
5. Need to run 5 miles;
6. Menu for this week, grocery shopping;
7. Supervise birthday thank you notes;
8. One last laundry load, since Nate got a massive nose-bleed last night.
9. Find my language. Huh. Maybe it's in my purse?