I'm laying here watching the ceiling fan. It has wooden blades that
fool no one into thinking it's a dead palm frond, but I loved it when
I picked it out. Now it circles slowly and endlessly overhead,
scattering bits of shadow, no-- light, all over the room. A chaotic
spray of stray sunlight from the window that tells me it's still
morning. Kind of pretty, I guess. I don't know how long I'll be
watching the fan. Will it be scattering moonlight?
A bit of metal pinches my back, and I shift a little. As much as I
can. My weight is well distributed over the metal frame, so it doesn't
hurt. It's early still, but the day is warm. It's always warm here.
The breeze from the fan is only a pleasant rustle against my naked
skin. Yes, everything is still pleasant.
It's going to be a long day. The mattress we slept on last night, the
mattress that belongs on top of this metal mattress frame, is standing
upright against the wall. It's still draped in it's coverlet & bed
linens, as if it slept in its clothes after some drunken party. It
made a fool out of itself last night. Now it turns itself to the wall
in shame. The Brit was in a hurry when he tossed our mattress aside
this morning, but I know that mattress will be back in place tomorrow,
perfectly dressed and decorated and saying not a word.
I lift my head as much as I can to see the metal table that doesn't
belong here. It's not a very big table. I guess you could knock it
over if you kicked long enough. It doesn't belong here, not in my
bedroom. I know that table.
The sun is stronger now, forcing the fan to shoot more light around
the room like a bizarre disco mirror ball. A strobe-light catching my
mirrors, my painting,... that table. I close my eyes. The light hurts. I
wish it was moonlight. I wish it was moonlight already.
fool no one into thinking it's a dead palm frond, but I loved it when
I picked it out. Now it circles slowly and endlessly overhead,
scattering bits of shadow, no-- light, all over the room. A chaotic
spray of stray sunlight from the window that tells me it's still
morning. Kind of pretty, I guess. I don't know how long I'll be
watching the fan. Will it be scattering moonlight?
A bit of metal pinches my back, and I shift a little. As much as I
can. My weight is well distributed over the metal frame, so it doesn't
hurt. It's early still, but the day is warm. It's always warm here.
The breeze from the fan is only a pleasant rustle against my naked
skin. Yes, everything is still pleasant.
It's going to be a long day. The mattress we slept on last night, the
mattress that belongs on top of this metal mattress frame, is standing
upright against the wall. It's still draped in it's coverlet & bed
linens, as if it slept in its clothes after some drunken party. It
made a fool out of itself last night. Now it turns itself to the wall
in shame. The Brit was in a hurry when he tossed our mattress aside
this morning, but I know that mattress will be back in place tomorrow,
perfectly dressed and decorated and saying not a word.
I lift my head as much as I can to see the metal table that doesn't
belong here. It's not a very big table. I guess you could knock it
over if you kicked long enough. It doesn't belong here, not in my
bedroom. I know that table.
The sun is stronger now, forcing the fan to shoot more light around
the room like a bizarre disco mirror ball. A strobe-light catching my
mirrors, my painting,... that table. I close my eyes. The light hurts. I
wish it was moonlight. I wish it was moonlight already.
Wow.
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