Exactly what is spare time? Spare, used as an adjective, means additional to what is required for ordinary use. Or, meager and nearly inadequate. Does this mean that the time I spend relaxing is considered spare? Is the time I spend sitting on the patio, basking in the sun’s rays considered spare? Maybe it’s the time I’m spending here, writing about a thing that makes me wonder if wondering about such things is a waste of my own spare time. But, if there is such a thing as spare time, do you reckon we could share with those who have no time to spare?
Oh, my. Remember the movie with Justin Timberlake, where people had only so much time? I caught the last few minutes but wouldn’t use my spare time to watch the entire thing. He should stick with making music. I actually bought a song of his. It’s “Hallelujah,” from the save Haiti movement. It moves me when I listen to it on my iPod, but that’s not often, since I only listen in my spare time.
Hey, sister! Can you help a sister with a little spare time?
Sometimes I feel guilty for the mistakes I unknowingly make. Like the one I made with this guy. Something is killing the leaves on my little citrus tree. Slime is the most noticeable evidence left at the crime scene. The get slimed, and then they curl up around the prey trapped inside. I know because I often unwrap the green shroud for a peek at what is there. I am mostly left with a puzzled head-shake because fifty percent of the time there is nothing inside. There is evidence that something went on though. I didn’t know what to think when I found the dragon-looking caterpillar inside; asleep; digesting its dinner?
No matter. I tore away half the leaf before I put this new discovery on my knee and took photos. I forgot about being in my pajamas. I forgot about being wary of spiders. I forgot about the itchy okra. I just went.
It was supposed to rain again so I made a pact with myself. Said I would not bother getting dressed today. It did not that mean I couldn’t go outside between storms in my sleepwear. I know. I sat on a chair. I sat on my little gardening stool. There’s no telling how many weird things hitchhiked inside with me. The thing that mattered most was the discovery.
So. I got a close-up on my MacBook. See that clear coating that surrounds the ladybug? Makes me wonder. I wonder about a lot of what I see here, including the damages I might have by interfering, but not until after. Still I wonder: Was the ladybug there because she wanted to be? Was she molting? Was she hiding out? Was she dinner? She doesn’t look dead at all. Had some predator captured, killed, and was marinating her for a snack or something? Humans can be so silly at times.
I still feel guilty over this little death. She drowned because of me. I left a container on the patio one afternoon. It rained before I had a chance to bring it inside. It wasn’t until the next day that I discovered her. She drowned because of me. She’s not the first one I accidentally killed.
This little thing came with a something I rescued or investigated, and I didn’t see it until it was time to clean my desk. Of course I took photos. It wasn’t until later that I discovered she was alive. She managed to crawl onto my keyboard. So, what did I do? I took another photo. Okay, I took several before I rushed downstairs to find a paper towel to use to transfer her outside. By the time I got back she was gone. I think Minuet might have eaten her. Humans can be so silly.
Knowing what I know hasn’t stopped me from getting the shot. Take this moth. I never figured out how it found its way inside, but I managed to take shot after shot, while it flung itself against the glass door. Silly thing. I came to myself in time to save it from myself. I opened the door and shooed it to freedom. What if one of the doves saw it? And ate it? Silly human, me!
Haven’t used My Therd Eye much lately. Creativity has been pushed out–tamped down–high jacked by Death. Pleased to have had the presence of mind to take it with me when I went out back today to check things out after all the rain, I spied these two. Made me LOL. No matter what–life goes on, doesn’t it?
. . . represents the way I feel inside. This is how life look since my sister passed on: hollowed out, like a black hole, dark, empty, flat, surreal, unreal, introverted . . .
Caring about anything beyond the basic basics demands too much energy. More than I seem to have. It’s been two months but too often it feels like two days. It’s been long enough that I’ve forgotten the passwords to five of my seven blogs. Like I care. The old me would be in a major panic. The same old me doesn’t care right now. Maybe later. Or not.
I don’t have much that wants saying. My drawings aren’t funny or annoying. Since May 5 there have been few, and the ones that managed to break free are sad or moody. And we know how death and mourning are avoided like they’re catching.Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m the one who wants to avoid my sister’s passing and my own mourning.
Most days I am Limner. Limner is armed with a pencil, My Therd Eye, a paint brush, markers, scissors, paper, glue . . . Am always seeking a surface to leave my mark on. My dream canvas is my body. My dream dream is covering it with henna designs that write the story of this life. I will cover it in white cotton and walk barefoot until I have left the ending in the wake of my passing, and carry the middle and my beginning, wrapped in myself. i am limner.