Today is Literal Wednesday.
The rain is relentless, and that is not a metaphor for the brooding, dark waters of the subconscious. It's seriously wet outside. Retention fields are full all around town, and this new dwelling of ours has some leaking issues. If something is not done to quell the trickles that turn to puddles turn to warped hardwood floors turn to thousands of dollars worth of damage, we'll be knee deep in problems. And that is meant to be taken both literally and metaphorically.
I can not think of a better time or a worse time to flee northward (Charles Dickens would be proud).
Again, the trip north is not a metaphor for escape, the fall season and my need to find the cool bite of crisp, fresh air do not represent the end of a life cycle. Well, they are metaphors in their own right, but I will quite literally get on an airplane and head north to a place with cool, crisp air, on the morrow.
And for those of you not accustomed to knighthood and far off kingdoms tucked deep within jagged mountain ranges complete with drawbridges and fire breathing dragons, "on the morrow" literally refers to something occurring "tomorrow." Nobody in their right mind talks like that in modern times (thank goodness) and to be perfectly straight forward, I don't know what I was thinking when I wrote it...but I'm not in an editor frame of mind, so there it stays.
It's out there. Can't take it back.
Additionally, I am literally wearing long sleeves as the recent, thorough environmental soaking has rendered these lands totally saturated and significantly cooled...not due to some hidden deep dark secret under my shirt. Except for goosebumps. It's chilly.
Careful what you wish for. Lesson learned.
As for my Jazz Hands deployments of late, the new bathroom mirror is, literally, much larger than the previous home's bathroom mirror, and it is, literally speaking, reflective surface overkill.
Three sides to the exact same thing is approximately two sides too many, and I do not need to see every angle of my jazzing hands. However, I can...therefor you will read about the deployments that occur in front of, next to and behind this complex system of mirrors. I literally went through the Jazz Hands motions today and I needed to put the deployment behind me as quickly as possible in order to get on with things. There is much to accomplish prior to my inevitable departure (on the morrow), so to expedite the day's hand jazzing seemed abundantly necessary.
I am now adequately prepared to abandon my family for a few days, leaving them with the lofty obligations and responsibilities this new home requires so that I may play the part of savage, deep within the belly of the woods, consuming only those items that can be prepared over an open, rip-roaring fire and of course, ice-cold beverages. There exists some guilt associated with this expedition, but I have an obligation as a man to bury an axe in pieces of wood and then burn them...for days on end.
If by chance the wood is already split, I shall carry the pieces of wood that another man has chopped, and build a nice, warm fire.
If by chance the wood is already split and the fire already started, I have an obligation, as a man, to sit by said warm fire that other men have built in the middle of the woods that has been partially axed and split by other men. I must abide by this code, just like our ancient ancestors did before the modern trappings of our civilized culture came to be...and just as they did before us, I shall sit near a large cooler, filled with ice cold beverages.
And I may also stop for pizza.
Early man did not stop for pizza due to lack of opportunity and that is the only reason they did not stop for pizza. If they could have they would have and I can so I will.
My next report will bid you farewell until I return from this ancient ritual, from this autumnal embracing rumpus, from this primal, instinctual call to the wild.
Today's soggy Jazz Hands were nonfiction. Literally.
Day two-hundred and sixty-eight complete.
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