The following is an excerpt from my "job journal," which I update every morning five minutes before work, while sitting in my car in the parking lot, watching the morning traffic drone along the highway:
Mother's Day, 2008: I crept out of the house quietly this morning, and now regard the old restaurant, huge on its hill and silent. It's soon to be brimming with more mothers than you cd shake a stick at. Last year they served 1,200, I think it was.
A hard rain fell last night. Downed branches littered the road on the way to work. At one point I awoke and, amidst the electric thunderclaps and torrential gush-fall, heard a great Blakean locomotive burning into the night like some kind of dark hero howling Northwest under the be-clouded stars. "This is life," I thought just before dropping off to sleep again.
No comments:
Post a Comment