October 9, 2002

Once again I go an exceedingly long time between entries. My annual hiatus, I suppose. Now that things are calming down (in relative terms, anyway) at work, my brain is gradually easing down from work-work-work! mode, allowing the creative parts to come out of hibernation. What better way to start than with another Random Acts Of Journaling poem?

Taking the last train home

The cadence of the Pullman car
Lulls me into relaxation
Daydreaming through the whistles
And the endless clatter
As the twilight sets on
The rolling hills and countryside
That I trundle through,
Taking the last train home
To you.

I've developed a routine at work of listening to jazz in the morning and my 80s collection of mp3s in the afternoon. I've found the jazz helps calm the mind and keep it well-focused for the daily rush of new jobs and panicked users that invariably appear. The jazz is also helping at this moment with finishing up this entry, though the 3WA chat window open in the background does distract from time to time. My co-worker is out of the room as well, so I can sing along to Diana Krall right now without fear of damaging eardrums.

Things are starting to progress at a faster rate with the house. They've finally started to build the damn thing. As of last weekend, the builders had started framing the place. The next three months until our closing seem right now like such a long time until we move, but no doubt with the rapid progression on the house and everything else associated with moving, the season and such, January will be here all too quickly, and chaos will reign supreme.

Mind you, that last bit holds true every day...

I think I'm going to go back to the RAoJ page and draw some ideas and inspiration for new entries over the remainder of October. Between those and the busy month it will be, I'm sure I will be able to egg my brain into more than one entry per month. I could always crack an egg over my skull, I suppose, for similar effect.

Well, this entry is certainly petering out in a hurry. Fleh. Tell you what? Just stick with the poem. The rest, like this, is just filler; like sawdust in a hot dog.

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