Lost Random Chatter

Monday morning... I peek out of the window- fat raindrops gracing the glass..

Hunger curling into spirals... eyes tired from a nightful of dreams... senses suspended between the real and surreal..

Laundry-my personal demon- that hateful thing- all my internal struggles manifested in a growing pile of dirty clothes...
Each step of a mundane chore becomes an onerous dangerous task.... insurmountable even...

And I watch helplessly...
caught in me...

It is a heady mix - this monday morning..

Ravi Shankar's Chants of India threatening to kidnap me-
some scene from the Ramayana- orange robes, Sita , the twins and a white horse....
or, just the familiar form of a Sitar- long clear lines, regular intervals imposed upon them by the frets, taut strings at the edge of snapping..........and pain that can prompt music...

An acute sense of the day ahead- rare enough for me to notice it...
Far from the disappointment that comes from having a week just drift past..

...... This state of suspension, fingers poised to strike as thoughts jostle each other, fighting for a place in the stream of consciousness..

The fight continues...

And I have a strategy...

Colour by colour, destroy that pile- if they were me , this would be a premonition of things to come...
And so what if it's simply changing the configuration of a few clothes lying pell-mell on a carpet..

It is control- and some sort of control over a personal demon is no mean feat... it has to be pondered upon, talked about, dissected and abandoned before it can be executed....

"Oh for fuck's sake-
Stop procrastinating - you- you child- and get on with it.......bloody clothes- takes hardly a minute.. and get on with the day....
it is a long week ahead...
and the weekend wasn't much help now, or was it?"