Off with her head!

Where is my head these days?
Certainly not where it should be; not at work, dealing with the epic piles of crap that are accumulating on my desk. It's only a matter of time before they notice, or before the fire marshal comes to condemn my corner of cube land.

Not in the day to day upkeep of a life in motion. Phone calls I need to make are forgotten. Yes, I look like I'm having a conversation, paying attention, nodding in agreement to I know not what, but really I'm miles away. My thoughts jumping like psychotic fish in an overcrowded, electrified pond.

My head isn't here either. I have tried to sit down and focus long enough to write something, anything worth reading, and obviously this isn't it. I have failed miserably, my queue is littered with half completed thoughts, paragraphs that run together, but fail to make a point. My google reader glares accusingly from it's corner of my computer screen, but even that simple, usually enjoyable break in my day, sits undone.

Here's the goocher. The things that have me so utterly distracted would make great posts, but I can't write about them. I'd like to, but one mini drama centers around family, and if Family reads of mini drama, Chanda will be in the poo. Nothing makes me want to drink like a Kennedy than family drama and the impending holidays.

The big pink elephant in the room, the source of all recent lobotomized behavior, centers around absolutely nothing but a remote possibility; a shadow of hope warring with a tsunami of self doubt and ambivalence (hard to say who's). I feel like the more I talk about it, the more I jinx it, and the more humiliated I'll be when it all comes to nothing. See, I told you there was pessimism. Suffice it to say; "Yes, Virginia, there is a guy".

I'll stop this incoherent ramble now, while I'm ahead, sort of. I promise I'll be catching up with everyone soon. In the mean time, that girl in the corner muttering to herself and drooling? Yeah, that's me.

Storm Front

Clouds gather, skies open,
thighs part in praise
as heavy, humid rains of sweat, lust, and rum
quench the unseasonal drought
of unbearable duration.
Winds of hot, dry unrest calm in the damp,comforting pressure
of a body pressed against mine
in saited sleep.

Now, left alone with nothing but the
satisfying soreness of body, and bruise of lips,
a hollow chill settles deep in the darkening sky,
and a wicked wind whips in the fury of a silent phone.