a thursday

So there's this feeling after working with flour when your fingernails are outlined in white and there are white smudges on your face and in your hair and the pile of dough refuses to feel like a baby's bottom -- how that became a measurement standard, I don't know -- and you are working on five hours of sleep and perhaps it is very cold outside the house and in one hour you will have to go make art for the rest of the day...it is at this moment that you feel tired. It's also this sense of Tired as you realize it is once again the end of a week and life seems to be ticking by extra fast in week-long units. Instead of seven days, you have one (1) week. We are the fifth?sixth? week into Fall Term. Midterms. The first wet and driving cold of winter. Already black walnuts are falling less frequently in machine gun precision against the kitchen roof. Damaged cells turn purple with the first awareness that frostbite is in the air again.

Tonight is Thanksgiving, except that it is October and Thanksgiving is a month away. But tonight is still Thanksgiving. We from the Kitchen are assembling at a single house to eat Thanksgiving food and play games and perhaps even engage in family drama if we can come up with a good scenario.

Last week is a blur of little sleep and driving in a car to Portland and also driving back. This week has passed almost as quickly with slightly more sleep and no drives to Portland, but just as frayed at the corners. It seems I haven't written anything except letters in months, years, lifetimes.

In the meantime, bread is rising. Clock is ticking. Rain falling. Car passing. Roommate ignoring alarm clock. And all is well with the blue rug on my bedroom floor and the glue gun on the kitchen table.