busy being robbed

busy busy busy.
nights are filled with school now, as are weekends until i get some capitol letters at the end of my name. someday.

but i hate the busy, not so much the 'run-around-doing' sort of busy, but the continuing aftermath busy, the lingering and consuming that is never shaken off, until it all begins again in full swing. a night's sleep is the only escape from it, and even that is found affected and wanting. and we're clueless all the while how completely it is robbing us.

there's a list of things i'd tell you about this day. how when i turned on the tv at work it flashed with scenes of rocky coasts and i thought to myself 'that looks like maine' and sure enough, there was the nubble light, it's red roof and bright white wood, the scene i've drawn a hundred times over. i'd tell you all the memories tethered to that coast, the thoughts of my dad that flooded in and crashed upon those rocks i used to jump as a little girl, now covered with death and ashes.

i'd tell you how nice it is to sit on my bed when i get off early enough to curl up in the warm sunshine covering the sheets. and i'm always wishing you could join me. we'd talk about lewis, or shake fists at obama, or nap to iron and wine. mmmm....wine. we'd wake up and drink cold reisling.

there's a lot to be taken in, but you are always so full, gluttoned by the day and its endless buffet of work and phone calls and people and lists. you've always been a sucker for buffets.

but quantity pales to quality.