soil like silk
I resent my job, but at the same time I technically got paid today to write eleven fresh pages of my play in between taking phone calls. So at least there’s that. I had my composition notebook open to a blank page and was letting my wrist push the pen around to create scribbles, lines, but no writing, as my eyes drifted toward the ceiling and I thought “I got nothin’.” But my wrist got bored with indiscriminate scribbles, so I wrote down the first line of dialogue that came to my head and felt right. And the thoughts just kept coming from every angle, all on the right track. A couple hours later, numerous phone calls (“How do you spell your name?” “C-A-I-T-L-I-N” “I-T-A-L-A…” “…Yeah.”), and eleven pages filled, I felt good. Or I had something to be proud of, at least. I got promoted last week, but I’m not sure yet just how I feel about the promotion as I’ve only had a couple training days so far for the new position and the way they train you for anything is to have a supervisor looking over your shoulder literally every moment for about five days. I feel uneasy about the promotion as well since I didn’t exactly hope to stay at this new job for too long. It’s too early yet to know if this changes things or not. My farming apprenticeship starts in a little less than two weeks. Part of me thinks, “oh, can’t we just put it off for a couple more months?” because, you know, there’s just going to be a lot of newness all at one time, but then I think about dirt under my fingernails and soil coating my hands, staining my skin and I want to burrow right in, like a mole—get me in there. The more earth on me, the better. I’m one of those people who, when hiking after a heavy rainstorm, I choose to plow through the mud rather than work my way around it. I see muddy legs as something that ought to be worn with pride. Yes, I was out there and I lapped it all right up. I’ve got mountain legs and I know how to use them.
