I hate days like this. Days when my brain feels sluggish and it's barely 9 o'clock. It doesn't bode well for the rest of the day. Maybe I'll just pile my unshowered self on the couch and spend the day eating bonbons and drinking beer while I watch DVDs with no social or artistic merit. Or maybe I'll run away and join the circus.
January 23--Vincent van Gogh, Garden in Bloom, Arles. "Why do you do all that work? You can't eat it and it is a lot of work. Hard, strenuous, hot work--dirty and neverending. If you made an employee work as hard and as long as you regularly do out here, OSHA would be camped on your doorstep. You haven't answered my question. Why?"
"Because it's beautiful, that's why. See how the colors are so bright? And they lift the spirits. Well, they do mine. Don't they make you feel happier when you're down? I love how there are a hundred shades of green and how they all blend together, and how all the flower colors go together, make a harmonious blend even when you think they won't or shouldn't. Look deep into that patch of shade. Doesn't it make you cooler just to look at it? It does me. I can feel the cool wash over me even when I'm in the blazing sun. We haven't even mentioned the sounds of a garden, like the wind and the birds, the bees, and all the rest of the buzzing, fluttering inhabitants of this garden. We should talk about the soothing movement of the plants in the breeze or a storm wind. What about the fragrance? You haven't even asked about all the sweet, spicy, earthy aromas of the garden. Oh, why am I wasting my breath on you? I'll pick a tomato and some lettuce and make you a sandwich. If you have to ask why, you'll never understand."
There you go. Words. Anybody got any to share with me? I'm lonely out in this big echo-y place.
--Barbara
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