Maybe I've lost my faith in history...
Bitter-sweet and diva-voiced.
Frank and I return to our roots again. Last night singing along to the songs of many long car rides between here and there. Even the car was shuddering today.
Today has been brought the type of cold that makes one's blood feel like slush, and movement is just as messy. It's hard to get going. It's just as hard to stop. And so the battle has been waged. Vain preservation vs. humble resignation. Mediocrity vs. grandiosity. Top-billing for a war that no one wants fought, and fewer want to win. I wonder how I can coexist. I wonder whether my mediating skills have become too honed--going between the two poles that merit no one. As if compromise were possible. As if...
And so we're throwing a party tonight, and the preparations have halted for diversion. I try to write and Frank tries to sing, and we get lost in the music. The waste is mounting, and we're carried away. We'll party partly buried in the clutter we carry with us. The spoils of war. History repeating itself.