Danse comme si

It's but a feeble attempt to resuscitate my ailing blog.

For one i am kinda tipsy from the mimosa at dinner and cannot guarantee what will transpire next. Then i feel that i have lost my babble bug! I have switched to a quiet mode lately, for whatever reason. No, i am not brooding, not really.

Perhaps i shall start with a recounting of my daily comings and goings, just to get out of le rut paisible. Okay, woke up at eight in the morning by an intrusive telemarketing call. What the hell! That put me in a rather foul mood, and as i ventured into the kitchen for mon petit déjeuner, i accidentally slid a glass off the counter. It hit the floor almost in an obedient but decisive plunge and shattered into pieces. Zut alors! That was followed by a 20 min sweep-vacuum-mop spree which included a tiny break to take out the microscopic glass piece lodged in my left foot.

Nah! It's not working. Hey, who stole all my angst? Hmm. I wonder if i grew up a little. Oh, there it is, that word, wonder. Music to my blog's ears. It just may be his lucky night after all.

I can't seem to grow up. Neither my spirit, nor my appearance for that matter seem to take that rightful cue from age. Age, who only knows how to march forward. I mean don't get me wrong. On paper i am as grown-up as one can get. I come with a rather extensive education that takes the kind of patience and perseverance only a small subset of grown-ups can exhibit; i carry a job with the highest degree of stability; my natural ways of life from my choice of decor to my culinary inclinations sport gravitas that confounds even my contemporaries. But that's the extent of it, yep.

Need one grow up? Retire that twinkling of a wondering child behind the mask of adulthood? Steady that giddy wandering gait into a measured stride of conformity? Ah, non!

Ah, i hear the babbling brook...tiptoe not my dear, swell up and rise high, thrust across the erect stony exterior of that silent friend of yours, swirl around in tiny drops that give way to endless waves. O pray dance! Dance in glee, free and boundless, fierce and coy, dance until you are consumed and one in convergence.

There you have it mr. jones, i am not one to land, ever. I am born to fly.