Pelagia Noctiluca

Pelagia Noctiluca

Sunday, August 17

Moving over here -

- for a bit to see.

Mauve Matters

Mostly because I twisted my ankle, and I'm antsy for something complicated. For me, wordpress is complicated. But there you are.

so far


Sunday, August 10

Stop writing and go to sleep

I have sea legs, the day was so full. Among the rainy beach with romping dog, work duties of basketball and cake baking, hot sweaty dancing, and an unfamiliar living room speckled with pretty eyes, one shiny moment is gleaming through. I was writing the inventory of a girl's belongings at work, going through her make-up, noting each brand on the form for her to sign. Even with my new glasses, I had to squint closely at each name, holding it up to my face. Mass carrr a? No, mass what, mass aaa ger? Massager? Oh, she says, that's my vibrator, sorry about that.

Saturday, August 9

Dog Makes Sleep

So many things to dream of in eight luscious hours. Two consecutive such nights, and my memory is a storybook of images. Bright primaries, fragrant trees, and the energy to race through them. Last week, I declined a ride on a carnival train, because I was too weary to rise from the brown, prickly grass. I whined to myself that there were likely as many ants on the train as there were on my legs, and when I awoke for the zillionth time that evening, it took a full minute to know where and when I was. You know you're fatigued when you whine in your dreams.

But, now, I have the dog for 2 weeks, and clearly, I need to create permanent dogdom. The security is huge as my neighbors become sketchier each day, but truly, it is the warmth on my feet and the pulse of another life nearby. I can drop my guard and shut my brain off without worry. All is safe in the land of the furry.

Friday, August 1


I forget that mornings are so crispy and fresh. I'm trying a new insomnia tactic, setting my alarm in the morning, which worked last night. I got up at 8 after 3ish hours of sleep, and groggy though I was, the crispiness soothed me. I painted, coffeed, walked around the lake, and it was still daytime. There were so many hours of daylight yesterday! Went to sleep at midnight, and up at 10. It's still morning! Writing skills seem to be slipping, but who's judging, right?

Each hour of the day has it's own distinct quality, and I hate to miss any of them. Morning crispiness is a novelty, so I'll check that out for a while. The 11am hour is curious, you can see the sky thinking. Which way should I go today? Regardless of the morning being bright or dim, 11 seems to go neutral gray to reform it's plan.

I'd be hard pressed to pick a favorite, Bob, but 3am, it might be. The night is ending, traffic is an occasional hum. I turn off my music to hear the silence between the finally crashed barking dogs and the soon to be awake screeching birds. This has also always been the time when break-in's or domestic ugliness in the hood occur, giving this hour a lurking tension that could shatter the calm at any time. By 4 am, all is clear. (The writers of The Strangers figured that out.)

The trouble with 4 am for me is that morning is beginning, and if I'm still awake at this hour, I don't want to miss what's coming, and I tend to just stay up, which renders me useless for what does come.

5am is just irritating. Unless I'm on my way to an airport or in the 1st hour of a roadtrip. I could easily type away a 24 paragraph essay on the unique qualities of each hour, but now I'd rather be outside.