That's where most people start. But I find myself already in The Middle. And though I'm closer to The End it's not in sight.
A series of incomplete thoughts continue sprinting through my mind. Short phrases at a time. Like the old Batman show, "Bam!" "Whap!" on the screen for seconds at a time, then disappear. (Where did those words go? I ask myself the same.) This is my style. But for Your sake, Reader, I will keep You in mind, and try my very best to keep some concentration. The result I hope will be a complete thought.
Clothes spread across both floor and bed. A slight pattern of placement. New, unwashed; it's just been Christmas. Awaiting to be ironed. Unwashed, dirty. And finally the pile still in the basket, clean awaiting to be folded. Oh! I almost forget, the unpacked bags. AC went well, I wonder what I'll do with my winnings.
The room is quiet, lit only by a clouded sun. The curtains have been open for a year now, the light helps me wake in the morning. It's a cold light. Light nonetheless and it illuminates the bag on the floor, the dirty cap - I love that hat! It's a sign of sweat, hard work, I wear it every time I go to camp - and this bright peacock I received on Easter. It's all that remains from a broken romance. The light, though it illuminates the room it brings no warmth. A cold, dull, melancholly light invades my room.
And this this silly peacock thing, lifeless yet brings more mood than this grayed sun. I received it with an Easter basket, the basket I was supposed to save. Ironically, I was berated for tossing the basket, but the peacock remains; the romance does not. Awhile back, curious, I thought it was worth something. With a quick inspection, I expected to see "Hand Crafted", I read "Made in the Philippines". Disappointed, I remember picking it up and gearing myself to throw it out. Yet here it remains, today, I found its purpose. It's eye appealing. A light baby blue, obviously female with pink cheeks and a very small basket of her own. She wears a crown of baby blue flowers (fake of course). Her face is delicate, like a southern belle who will soon be courted by others less noble then herself - she's of a dying breed.
And so she stays, fixed upon my dresser. Staring into the mirror. Head cocked slightly, a permenant fixture, for now... Oh and she doesn't smile, expressionless she looks happy.
I'm now far removed from the memories of this special Easter gift. This peacock adds some life - a break from my melancholy mind and my mundane room. Expressionless yet happy.
Perception is reality. Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. I think You'd like the peacock too.
It's new years day, and nothing feels new. Except this blog. And blogs are a load of crap.