The World as it was to Me on a Rainy Saturday in November.

 In the North it snowed.

In Texas, rain. First only while I slept and then on a Friday a mist in the air all day, and on Saturday constant rain.

Almost December and cold, as far as cold goes here. I hadn't worn shorts in a few weeks and sitting at the kitchen table with nothing to do I wore a large sweater that read "Thank You" over a red hoodie with a lighthouse, over a large black v-neck t-shirt with white paint all over the front of it.

I had tried to paint earlier in the day. Now, waiting for paint to dry. I imagine I will still be waiting when you read this.

Waiting for paint to dry.

In the other room, a series of records I have loved, some too much, and some not enough, play through the television, and I keep thinking of a photo a friend had posted earlier in the day that brought me back to adolescence and I'm listening to the band Hum now, content and nostalgic, waiting for paint to dry.

A few days after Thanksgiving. The empty world of the post-holiday, and in a few days the anthill world of the pre-HOLIDAYS.  

Trying to keep busy, between waking up this morning and going to bed tonight, but I am waiting for paint to dry. Listening to records. Fucking with my phone. Daydreaming and over-analyzing. Clenching my jaw and eating left over mashed potatoes. Pacing through the house in boots I guess I don't need to be wearing and waiting for paint to dry.

Dim grey light soaking through the curtains fighting against the yellow light of the kitchen. The contrast gnaws at my vision and I keep having to choose a direction to absorb. Pacing through the house in boots I should just take off. 

The thought; why is it so miserable to waste time today? Why am I not comfortable?

This fucking paint.

If only the paint would dry I could be distracted and occupied and then I could go to sleep.