On days like today when nothing of note happened, it's difficult to write a post.
There's really no need to write about my awakening in the middle of the night to the crash of my white pull-down window shade falling to the floor, or the incessant "Barber of Seville" alarm tune of my cell phone as I forgot to take it off snooze while I showered. For that matter, it would bear no relevance to mention that I now shower with the bathroom door open a bit to keep the mirror from fogging and to slow mildew growth, as advised by Aunt Betty.
Clearly no one would want to read about my piping hot cup of green tea which lifts my spirits during my morning commute on the groaning subway while I thumb through my dog-eared news journal, or how I prefer to walk a block along the dawn-lit street past the carts of street vendors selling bagels and sausages, rather than trudge that block through the yell0w-lit hospital even though it's more direct.
How boring to note that I remembered Christian had told me that Thursday was "Taco Day" in the cafeteria as I walked through its doors, only to see Christian making himself tacos, piling sharp yellow cheddar over hospital-grade ground beef and crisp shells.
Of course now is not the time to say that surgeons sure can be irritating when they ask what the blood pressure is every two minutes, or how my heart soared when I was relieved at 1600, just when I was about to pre-op my final case of the day. And a blog is not the place to relate my special trip to Target today to buy a VHS tape to record The Office (not knowing the VCR would fail me), and how I bought 15-watt fluorescent bulbs there which have the same light output as 60-watt incandescent ones.
If this were a menu I might describe my pan-seared tilapia with crushed red pepper and parmesan cheese on top, or my green spinach salad with lemon juice and little Greek olives, or my small serving of special dark chocolate squares with toasted almonds. But it isn't.
It would be of no importance to dwell on the cool, gentle breeze and muted street noise wafting in my window in this moment, or the warm glow of the lamp on the cocoa walls and my soft beige comforter pulled back. Nor will I linger on how pleasantly warm my feet are when stocking-clad, or how my pillow knows just how much to give and how much to support my head as my eyelids grow just a bit heavier...as I sink into the end of yet another day.
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3 comments:
Then maybe now is a good time to post more pictures of that adorable calf. how about it?
CLF
Your post reminds me of Billy Collins. A specific poem.
"A specific poem"??? Oh dear, have I plagiarized? I was certainly going for a Collinsesque style in my mind, but now that I think about it, maybe he has a poem that is essentially the same idea; i.e., a composition about how there is nothing to write about--which disproves its very thesis.
My apologies, Billy. By the way, thanks for the message you left on my answering machine a couple years ago!
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