Sunday, 10 August 2014

Week Thirty-Five: Muscle Memory

Someone should tell August its name is too long. Come to think of it, lots of the months have names too long for polite spelling. And I was born in one of them. March through July are the months for my fingers. December is easy to spell, as I've put it to paper more than any other month in the last 30 years. Now, I don't mean easy to spell in terms of remembering the letters and where they go. I was quite the speller back in the day. I merely refer to the ease and quickness that my clumsy fingers hammer out the letters on a keyboard. Some things we can simply do by feel, as though the fine motor muscles remember things better than the big cognitive muscle that is the brain. My brain for certain is too busy being daft and sorting out when I last bought bread and remembering the name of that one film that one gal was in last year. Leave the muscle memory to the limbs.

Day 1 (239): 4th of August
I've got a lovely bunch of taskers now
There they are sitting in my queue
Real ones, frivolous ones, some I might even do
Give em a go, finish em so
you might have your hullaballoo
I am the keymaster. Nevermind the gate keeper. I just don't want to lose my keys. Takes a fair amount of effort, that. If ever you need a person to misplace things (especially important things, like keys) at essential times, I'm your girl.

Day 2 (240): 5th of August
Don't need me to worry 'bout time 'cause it goes on
Don't want me to tell you it's time to go home
Don't care what I want anymore this is your show
Go ahead with your big plans, leave me alone
Ever have one of those truly terrific Tuesdays that are so spectacularly terrific that the real "T" word that ought to describe them is not really for polite company's ears? Or really the ears of most dock workers.Thus the cranky Billy Joel re-write. And somewhat disturbing bizarre doodles. Honestly... not even sure what these are. I'll stick to photography I think.

Day 3 (241): 6th of August

Ice cream was piƱa colada, and I got caught in the rain.
I thought about doing yoga, but then I fell from the train. 
Don't like waking up at midnight, watching Dune in a cape.
There's a dream that I wait for but each night it escapes.
I had a great photo of a brilliant sunset this evening, but forgot to add it to my memory stick, so as I finish this at the hotspot, I am alas without. May remember to add it later. One action that gets easier (but sometimes harder) with age is the turning off (and the setting of) bedside alarms. I do hate it when they pull me from a really great dream. And announce a long day of being chained to a desk. Yay.  

Day 4 (242): 7th of August
Well I never gargled, I never gambled,
I never smoked at all
Until I met my two good amigos
Nick Teen and Al K. Hall
I may not smoke, but I do love this particular Rolf Harris song. So much so that I'm not even giving it the usual snarky re-write treatment. Al K. and I have had some good times and some not so good times, but sometimes he is just what the doctor ordered.

This one is a bit more fun.

Day 5 (243): 8th of August
Life is a beautiful thing
As long as I play the strings
And you're silly so I say
If you try to take them away
Really, I mean that. You may lose a digit or two. Not saying the things will be ripped from my cold dead hands. That's a bit dramatic, no? But I do love my guitars. I call them Florence and the Machine, because I named the first one Felix, and the other two by default became Florence and Rupert. Florence is pictured. She was an impulse buy. Who impulse buys a guitar? (P.S. Sorry for the re-write, Frankie).

She's just so pretty, and who here hasn't done silly things for the sake of the pretty ones?

Day 6 (244): 9th of August
But promises you know what they're for
It sounds so convincing, but you've heard it before
'Cause talk is cheap and you gotta be sure
And so you put up your guard
And you try to be hard but your heart says try again
I think I'm past the snark of the week, so I'll leave Ms. Benatar's lyrics alone. Best to just let the fingers do the talking and only say what needs said. Even if those fingers are not the best at typing.

Day 7 (245): 10th of August
Sunday mornin', praise the dawnin'
It's just a restless feelin' by my side
Early dawnin' Sunday mornin'
It's just the wasted years so close behind
Watch out, the world's behind you
There's always someone around you
who will call
It's nothin' at all.
Thanks for that one, Mr. Reed. I'll drink to Sunday mornings. But only if tea is what's on the menu. Do love a good cuppa to start the day.

Much like memories, most of these ended up in Black and White. Cannot say for sure, but it might have something to do with having odd-looking hands. 

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