Link of the Day:
the news from Bosnia
I admit to checking the map of Bosnia to see how far Brcko is from where Bobby is as soon as I heard today's news of the clash between Serbs and NATO forces. It seems like SFOR has overstayed their welcome. I do worry. I can't help it. Once the big sister, always the big sister. Every time I hear the word Bosnia on the news, I drop what I'm doing and pay attention.
I listened carefully to Morning Edition and then to the BBC news, then the tiredness from yesterday overtook me and I went back to sleep. Between folding infinite brochures on Tuesday night, and washing infinite litter boxes yesterday, and going to the Lowell Spinners doubleheader last night, I think I've overextended myself. As long as I know no American civilians were involved, I can go back to sleep.
the windows
I'm sound asleep when the cleaning lady shows up to do the windows. She rings the door bell. Why is she ringing the bell? She forgot the keys. I pull on jeans and a t-shirt and let her and her assistant in. They struggle to get the screens out and want to know if I know the secret. I hand them a screwdriver. I want to go back to sleep some more but I can't with them cleaning the windows, and guys roofing the unit across from mine, and two little girls driving a toy Jeep with an engine that sounds like a dentist's drill. Wilbur hides in a corner. I flee to Starbucks.
A swat team from Starbucks Corporate has descended on my local store. Apparently so many people have quit and the new manager hasn't been around long enough to hire folks, that Starbucks has rushed three people in to straighten things out. They're rearranging everything. They bustle around at 10 times the pace I'm thinking at this morning. Andrew, the one remaining barista from the old crew, is beside himself. The corporate types don't give me the personal cup discount. My latte tastes a bit watery. They've spent three hours timing shots and adjusting the machine. There was nothing wrong with the machine.
The coffee doesn't wake me up.
drifting
Back at home, the window washers are done. The place looks great. Too clean to live in.
I lie down on the bed without even pulling down the covers. I drowse between pages of beachcombing at miramar. I feel obliged to finish it even though the cliched, hushed toned, solemnity of it makes me want to hurl it across the room. I finish it in a burst of energy. I want so badly to find inspiration or explanation or something I can tell my friends and family about why it is important for me to drift, why a year, then a year and a half, then two years, then two and half is still not enough...
I did what is in some ways opposite to Bode's path. I went toward people, toward family obligations, toward societal contribution when I left the "pressures of the world". And it's still not enough.
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