*i.hate.effort.

I ran to my seat so I could relieve myself of the words and sentences crawling out of my ears and eyes….. I felt as if I would explode, similar to having to urinate really, really bad ‘cept more romantic and flowy. No pun intended. Picture a slow pan of an angelic-looking woman standing on a mountain, hair blowing softly in wind, she’s breathing in and out heavily, collar bones flashing, her billowy spirit singing to the air… mixed with a bear in heat and maybe a constipated elephant for good measure. That is how it feels to want to write “it” down. Not knowing what the “it” is until it’s written of course. (also think ‘Lord of the Rings’ when he’s about to put that damn ring on, and the air around him becomes fuzzy and soft, his reality suddenly dented and mottled, echoes of his actuality swimming about on tethered pieces of softly falling truth. Um. Um, um. ummy um!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Like that
GO!
A friend gave me a book to read recently. Actually, a series. He just went on ahead and handed me all three. Now, I was pretty excited, first off, to be receiving books from another bright minded human in the first place, however I had no idea how much of a task I was about to unwittingly be riding into. The books themselves were wonderful old. The kind of wonderful old that reminded me of my mother’s collection of old Bradbury books.
Almost immediately after he handed the books over, I buried my face inside the wispy yellowed pages of one, deeply inhaling and grinning, like a kid with stealthy plans for a nearby stack of double-stuff Oreos. I had the milk in the glass and the paper napkin folded just so… all I needed was to sit down and begin.
The creature cradled between my fingers was filled with the sweet smelling skins of intelligent thought… though I had no idea how intelligent they really were. I sat down during lunch break at work the next day and began to dive into the first of the trilogy. I had to re-read page one a couple times. Didn’t think much of it… told myself I was just warming up to this new author, I would be settled in soon enough, plus I just like to read fast. I like to do everything fast. Right? Nothing to fear. But by page three I had retreated to my car where in one hand I held an open dictionary, in the other the novel of unanticipated challenge. A Challenge I was (and still am) a bit mad at. Actually one of the only reasons I am going to persist is because of ego related reasons. I cannot bear the thought of returning these books unread. Even though I have to read them like they are f-kin Mindsweeper level 400. I don’t even remember if Mindsweeper had levels. But if it did-- it would so be level 400. Maybe even 401. When reading I felt like at any second these pages made with Bible paper from the 17th century B.C. (haha I know, I know. Whatever skim on, skim on) would possibly explode in my face; sending billions of tiny astute thought processes all over my frustrated and mannish, manhandling, man hands. And I do have some manly hands. They are huenormous. That means big. Enormous and huge got married and birthed my hands. The left one was two minutes earlier and holds it over the right to this day. Always has to have the upper glove, if ‘ya know what I mean.
So this book and me were hanging out in my van, in the parking lot of my workplace. We were slowly bonding. And by slow I mean read a sentence, stop, look up word, stop, re-read sentence, stop, digest, sigh, squint, lean closer, until my spinal column was completely bent and my nose was almost touching the pages I was so super concentrating on the task of our bonding. Fingers daintily clutching pages that very well could have been a pack of Rizlas in a former life. Sweat began to form a beady little colony on my forehead. The colony’s leader soon sending recruits out to explore the areas under my arms as well; Quickly becoming a new world order causing China to fidget nervously. So I sat, physically slouched and mentally stirring. Brain chewing the bits and pieces of tough words; the process heavy and satisfying at the same time.
These books had covers done in a satin finish, and displayed mind dilating illustrations, both eerie and beautiful. The Titles were done up with eagerly devoured typeface, sustaining my ever thirst for interesting fonts.
These books demanded in a quiet voice to be plucked delicately like a harp. At least how I imagine a harp to be plucked, which is deftly but softly. To be eaten slowly like an exotic dessert. These books had the golden warm pages resembling what I would imagine the souls of autumn leaves would look like. Pages smelling sweetly of memories and wearing the weathered faces of time.

To quote a friend;
I.Hate.Effort.
But if it takes any effort, (whatever the it is) it’s so worth it.

{More later}