Miles to Go
Jan. 25th, 2006 12:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pen_gruntThe woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
It’s terribly melodramatic to think a poem that, by and large, is agreed to refer to suicidal thoughts best describes a feeling for a time. Those stanzas are from Robert Frost’s “Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening.”
It’s the end of a show, the last day has come and gone. It’s equally like the breath of cold air after being shut in a stifling room, AND like the last day of a carnival—sad and destructing. I have to say, after 7 straight 16-hour at-the-client’s-beck-and-call days, I’m terribly relieved and somewhat disappointed. Now it’s back to a semblance of loose reality. . . at least until the next show.
I did do some incredibly peaceful things, though none of them resembled snowy woods in the slightest. Subtle references to suicide even less so. I went for a jog along the coastline (I’m in Monterey, CA)—I looked at tide pools, jumped over rocks, harassed a seal, and covertly (and illegally, I believe) molested a starfish. When I came back from the jog yesterday (the only bit of free time I had on this particular leg of the journey) I had the scent of outdoors on me. You know; the smell you get on your skin when it’s been lightly baked by the sun, salted slightly, and spiced nicely. I tasted rather like ocean. I have to say, it was rather pleasant.
I did notice one interesting phenomena that was rather eerily like the Frost poem above. While standing on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean, it is damn tempting to throw one’s self off the cliff. I’m not saying this is a suicidal thought, nor is it morbid in the least. Kundera says that vertigo is not a fear of falling, but rather the scary and extreme desire to do just that. I know what he means. It’s kind of like standing by a button that says “don’t touch” and wanting desperately to push it; or walking by a baby and just *wanting* to poke at the soft spot. You wouldn’t want to cause harm, but you want to see what if.
And now I have miles to go before I sleep, both figuratively and literally. I have a half a book left to edit that I MUST do tonight. I have a half a continent to cross before drifting into my own bed.
I’ve also decided that if the whole after-death bit should happen to—on and off chance—include reincarnation, I would like to come back as a sea otter.
Which is funny seeing as how I can’t swim.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
It’s terribly melodramatic to think a poem that, by and large, is agreed to refer to suicidal thoughts best describes a feeling for a time. Those stanzas are from Robert Frost’s “Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening.”
It’s the end of a show, the last day has come and gone. It’s equally like the breath of cold air after being shut in a stifling room, AND like the last day of a carnival—sad and destructing. I have to say, after 7 straight 16-hour at-the-client’s-beck-and-call days, I’m terribly relieved and somewhat disappointed. Now it’s back to a semblance of loose reality. . . at least until the next show.
I did do some incredibly peaceful things, though none of them resembled snowy woods in the slightest. Subtle references to suicide even less so. I went for a jog along the coastline (I’m in Monterey, CA)—I looked at tide pools, jumped over rocks, harassed a seal, and covertly (and illegally, I believe) molested a starfish. When I came back from the jog yesterday (the only bit of free time I had on this particular leg of the journey) I had the scent of outdoors on me. You know; the smell you get on your skin when it’s been lightly baked by the sun, salted slightly, and spiced nicely. I tasted rather like ocean. I have to say, it was rather pleasant.
I did notice one interesting phenomena that was rather eerily like the Frost poem above. While standing on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean, it is damn tempting to throw one’s self off the cliff. I’m not saying this is a suicidal thought, nor is it morbid in the least. Kundera says that vertigo is not a fear of falling, but rather the scary and extreme desire to do just that. I know what he means. It’s kind of like standing by a button that says “don’t touch” and wanting desperately to push it; or walking by a baby and just *wanting* to poke at the soft spot. You wouldn’t want to cause harm, but you want to see what if.
And now I have miles to go before I sleep, both figuratively and literally. I have a half a book left to edit that I MUST do tonight. I have a half a continent to cross before drifting into my own bed.
I’ve also decided that if the whole after-death bit should happen to—on and off chance—include reincarnation, I would like to come back as a sea otter.
Which is funny seeing as how I can’t swim.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Rather. . . .
Date: 2006-01-25 06:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-25 09:39 pm (UTC)Blech!
no subject
Date: 2006-01-26 06:42 pm (UTC)Just like I'm making the assumption that by coming back as a sea otter I would automatically know how to swim. Cuz if I didn't....I would die upon birth, and that wouldn't be a very fruitful incarnation.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-26 06:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-27 07:16 am (UTC)And you would make the cutest sea otter!
no subject
Date: 2006-01-31 04:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-31 02:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-31 04:52 pm (UTC)Just on the arm.
Oh come on. Don't tell me you've never done it.