not the hare.

not having left the house all day, i feel my brain turn to the cold thick mush of day-old oatmeal. waking up far later this afternoon than i had origianally hoped, mostly thanks to last-night late-night insomnia and iron chef, i bumble around for the most of the day, not doing much more than making myself lunch, dinner, and tidying up the kitchen and living room a bit. at eight thirty in the evening the sky outside my window still glows a navy blue, while only a fleeting wash of magenta low on the horizon alludes to a sun that once was. the trees stand as dark silhouettes against this nautic canvas, waving their branches slightly everytime the wind blows. pulled from magritte's empire of light, this land of shadow below slowly turns on their incandescents for the night as the sky still blushes a blue above. somewhere in the shady distance, the hoots and hollars of sports fans can be heard, no doubt watching the televised baseball game from behind cans of beer and chips with dip. the children who were kicking a soccer ball around earlier this evening in the alley behind seem to have returned to their homes, now that it has gotten too difficult to see, and i no longer hear the thuds of ball-against-shoes nor the scuffle of loose gravel. the evening has gotten quiet and eeire, the way idleness becomes eeire at times. once in a while, a motorcycle's growling putters roar through air, either from the highway or the street, but as soon as the disruption fades, the eeireness returns. the slow day kicks off a lackadasical three-day-weekend, where almost everyone around has checked out of the city to spend time with family in their suburban fantasylands.

nothing is so aggravating than calmness.
: wilde.