Paint

Distant humming, mechanical whirring,
a slight rumble and shake to the room;
The air is on, and I can feel it graze through
the hairs sticking up from my skin;
Computer screens, half awake, half asleep,
a beachside oasis wallpaper repeated
on every other monitor,
jutting rocks, a cavern of sand,
and it’s 1:46pm, to be exact;
Two more hours to go, until I am free to leave
and let my mind roam mindlessly elsewhere
and at another time;

Remember school?
Remember what it was like when they finally
turned on the AC, and the entire building
shifted
in place?
Remember how it felt when walking into a room,
a room you knew before, but now with
added comfort and luxury?
A room that once made you sweat until your
pits could drain enough water to fill a bucket?
A room that once made you cry tears of
complete exhaustion, from bullying or
heat or whatever else existed outside the mind?

Yeah, that’s it.

Paint a picture without photos

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#100: The Snow Day

landscape photography of mountains covered in snow

Photo by eberhard grossgasteiger on Pexels.com

Yes, it’s blog #100! Isn’t this special? It sure feels that way. Knowing I’ve kept up writing 300 words a day for about 100 days in a row now, the feeling fills me with determination! Not to mention that I’ve skipped a few days here and there, but for the most part, it’s been a consistent streak.

The snow day I had on Tuesday was so necessary, after a long, dry winter season without much snow. Although I had only just started following a school-based schedule again a few weeks ago, the snow day felt like the perfect stress relief after some time of hard work. It leads directly into February break, which I’m super looking forward to. February break lasts only a couple extra days (it includes Thursday, Friday, and Monday off) but even those extra days will be cherished and appreciated for what they are. Needless to say, bring it on!

Snow has always been associated with school for me. It’s hard to separate them in my head, considering I’ve always been operating under the typical school-based schedule of life. Summers are off, winters are variable, and fall and spring are work time. After graduating high school, I went to college for five years, earned my undergrad and graduate degrees, and then went to work in a school system. The only break I’ve had from the school schedule was in 2018, during the few months I spent unemployed. So, when I hear snow, my mind always thinks about whether or not it will result in a snow day, a day off of work. Is it any surprise that, as soon as I return to working in a school, the year’s supply of snow finally begins to drop down from the sky?

Snow days are special.

Heat

It’s hot outside.

fireworks-yellow-sun-bomb-atomic-yellow

Today’s the kind of day you would remember from years ago, when you used to wake up at whatever time your body’s internal clock thought was suitable, and in your state of remembrance, there’s heat, filing your brain with red and orange-colored thoughts, and if for the fifteen to twenty minutes you’re standing in the heat you feel the sun explode upon your brow you know then that you’ve breached the realm of the hot, the cold, the unbridled amalgamation of tumult weather. It’s the heat you remember. It’s the heat that you hate. You have an affinity for the unreal Saharan desert in the time of Job.

Time is moving so quickly so unbelievably quickly, you don’t notice the exponential growth of humanity combusting into what was years of work into a month of productivity. Years of plowing the fields rendered useless in a week with a machine. The human touch is gone. The human torch is on.

It’s the heat. I don’t like the heat.

“Job” more like “Jobs,” Steve “Jobs.” The guy who made the Mac. I’m writing on a Mac. An Apple. An iPod, a holy text, a biblical memoir, a sonnet composed on the ancient cavern wall’s of Babylon.

It’s the heat.

It’s hot outside. And don’t blame it being summer – it’s always been like this.

Summer

images

What’s the call of the seasons?

Spontaneous 90 degree weather signals

Summertime is in full-force

Winds of change command attention

When’s the next spring?

When’s the next autumn?

Warmth warms and cool air cools

But the weather improves not

Summer is summer

And summer never changes.

Not Rain

200236712-001

Don’t call it rain

It’s not a storm

Don’t call it wind

It’s not a tornado

Don’t call it earth

It’s not quaking

Don’t call it rain

Don’t call it rain.