Category: Words

Mara reclined in the sun on her chaise lounge, with a novel and a glass of red wine at her side after a particularly acrobatic evening with Samael who did not appear to be the least bit tired. He never was. In fact, he was full of energy in spite of having cleaned both of the bathrooms, washed and dried the dishes, done 2 loads of laundry and dusted the whole house. He was currently humming an exotic tune while he vaccumed the carpets upstairs. Was there anything sexier, she wondered, than an incubus in an apron?

Samael nuzzled her neck. He did not appear to be wearing anything. Not even an apron. And there was, sadly, no chaise lounge. Just a very cluttered kitchen with a sink piled high with dirty dishes.

Mara sighed and wondered what she’d have to do to get the angel into an apron. Could she tell him the feather duster was a sword?

“Don’t you have anything to…destroy…or anything? I have things to do today, and although your companionship is very fulfilling in many ways, I do have some errands to run and cleaning to do. And a very neglected job. The last time I tried to get anything done, you were in the way. It’s hard to do any work with a bored giant incubus in the house stomping around.”

Samael raised a displeased eyebrow at the word incubus.
“I do not stomp. I glide. Or fly. Silently. You have voiced your displeasure about my silent arrivals more than once. Nevertheless. Is there anything I may assist you with, my treasure?”

“Do you know how to sweep? Dust? Feed birds? Buy groceries?”

“Those are not typically things I am required to do. I can eliminate or attract dust and dirt with a spell if you wish.”

“Really? Cool! Eliminate away!”

Samael lifted a hand slightly and muttered a few strange words. Several potted plants collapsed, but the floors, windows, shelves and other surfaces did look dramatically cleaner.

“That’s amazing. The plants need dirt to grow in, though. Can you put some dirt back in the plants?”

“Not with a spell. The dirt no longer exists.”

“Do angels get any sort of practical training? Can you use a shovel?”

“I could slice you into three equal pieces with my sword before you realize you are even dead.”

“Well. That’s sweet, and I’m sure it’s very practical in certain situations. I’m not sure how helpful that will be in cleaning the house though.”

“I do not wish to slice you into three pieces, of course. But I could if I needed to.”

“Let’s try not to end up there, Sami.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that. I am Samael.”

“And I wish you knew how to wash dishes. We all have our cross to bear.”

What goes up must come down
Spinning wheel got to go round
–Blood, Sweat and Tears/Spinning Wheel

Recently I was trying to describe how my brain works to someone whose brain is apparently much tidier than mine. My thought processes, I am sure you have noticed, are pretty disordered. I do well at work, where the type of work I do forces me into orderly thoughts. Outside of work, though, my thoughts are all over the place, especially at night when I’m trying to fall asleep. Or when I’m trying to write.

I thought I’d try a technique called automatic writing to illuminate the sad state of my thoughts. My typing isn’t nearly as fast as my thinking so it’s actually much worse. I could probably only get about half of my thoughtlets down.

It went something like this:

I wonder what I should write about. Tom Brokaw is irritating the cat is hurting my knee something about the way I think trimethoprim is on a regular schedule. More freezing rain? I can’t talk and write head aches I wonder about kissing it’s hard to type. Was that Tom Brokaw?

A few seconds later, I really don’t know where trimethoprim or Tom Brokaw came from. The TV is on, because Mark is watching the news, so they probably bled over from TV.

My head does ache, though.

This isn’t a very good representation though. Much of the time I have entire imaginary conversations that go on. Everything swirls around. I invent alternate endings to situations that will happen or that have already happened. I rehearse things I want to say. I have a lot of arguments. Sometimes I even really discuss the things I think about with the people I have thought them about. I think about vampires or incubi. Knitting. I imagine books in different scenarios.

At night, it gets to be hard to turn it off, especially if I am under stress about something. If I focus on something during the day, I can usually snap out of it. If I just notice the chaos and acknowledge it, sometimes I can pull out of it. If the thought chaos is persistent, sometimes I need to physically focus on something. I might touch my throat or forehead and just notice that sensation for a minute and then move on. Other times, I write about whatever weirdness seems to be the most insistent. Sometimes that means getting out of bed.

I am not fond of getting out of bed.

I am not fond of lying in bed with a thought storm going on, either.

Yes I could just keep my iPad or a notebook by the bed, smart ass. No one likes a smart ass, you know.