Tomorrow I go in to get the lab work done, to find out if I ovulated this month or not. I hardly felt the clomid at all, unless this time around it contributed to my general feeling of euphoria, but I pretty much blame that on jogging while listening to Pink Floyd's "Learning to Fly."
Speaking of music, last night I was driving home from dropping Keith off at a poker game. I was exhausted, my eyes were gritty, the road was dark, indistinct. All the music on the radio was crap. I started switching through the channels.
Suddenly, boom, I heard the liquid notes of a jazz guitar came dropping right out of the sky, like fat, warm drops of rain before the storm. They ran right into my skin, all the synapses in my brain flowered open. My spine sank into the seat. Oh, it was delicious.
I wasn't exhausted anymore, I was supple and loose- I was cool, cool blue and flowing up through the night. I was reminded that somewhere out there, in the dark, there existed the cities, and people lived there and were intelligent and sophisticated and went to dim coffee joints and listened to live jazz until late into the morning before dragging themselves into the office the next morning. They're the sort of people who still smoke and can make engaging conversation about Russian literature and the early blues movement.
I'm not one of them, not even close. I'll never be and that's ok by me. But boy, was I glad to be reminded of them, I hope they live forever.
Last night I decided, around four thirty, to read through my entire story. I normally don't, it takes too much time, I usually work on it within a radius of five pages or so. But I was curious.
Three and a half hours later I was twenty pages from the current, unraveled end where I have left the story hanging, loose, raw. During that time, I'd been collected string after string of thoughts and themes and ideas from earlier in the story and was drawing them up with me, up through the story, so it was like I held in my head a whole warp of thoughts that ran off into the dark.
That was the moment when Keith said, "Honey, so and so's having a poker party."
My sweet lord. That was not a good moment. All my thoughts broke, like a spider web that's been broken and the loose, gossamer threads just wave aimlessly, fall, light through the air, disconnected.
Because I love my husband immensely and it's just a story after all and he hadn't gone to a poker game in a long while, I put it all away and drove him there.
And now I don't remember anymore where the frick I was going with all those thoughts. But I did get a lot of editing done, in the process of reading the whole thing, so it wasn't a complete loss.