Dancing to Dirges

Depressing and happy things Tim says, sometimes while drunk

Tuesday, February 03, 2009

Early mornings of our youth

My boss called in sick today. He has pneumonia. My coworker has the kind of cough that sounds like he's drowning, and my other boss is starting to get something. So there's that. I'm not touching *anything* at work. I'm typing this with my mind.

I'm sitting here typing this, and looking at the calendar over my desk. It's a calendar of the Blue Ridge mountains, where I grew up. My dad gave it to me. In part, at least, because he's trying to get me to move home. But as I'm looking at this calendar, all I can think is that it's really not very good at conveying what I remember about home. This is a picture of the Great Balsam mountains. That's near the Devil's Courthouse. My friends and I used to drive out there at night, to see the sun rise in the morning. We'd sit on the cold stone wall of the overlook, our breath cold in our mouths, our hands under our arms, fog and cloud snagging through the firs and chasing up the mountainside, the whole thing painted gold in light that looked like it was spilling out of god's own forge. So honestly, do you think a calendar is going to convey that? A slip of glossy paper tacked up to dull creme wall, broiling under the reflected light of a fluorescent choked with dead bugs that haven't been cleaned out since the building was slapped together? Honestly?

The air smelled like dirt. I remember that, too.


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