“Happy Winds-day, Piglet!” + scattered associations
My favorite Winnie the Pooh film is the one about a blustery day. For Piglet, Winds-day is simply a terrible, no-good, very bad day. Too tiny to fight the wind, he’s buffeted along with no say as to travel itinerary or destination.
Today overqualifies for the application of “blustery” as a defining adjective. I know because today’s wind is the only force that can outsqueal the Justin Bieber cd plugs Yahoo! keeps playing when the page refreshes. The only thing louder than the gale is the cawing of angry birds scattered out of V-formation.
In the movie Chocolat: it is the stirrings of the West Wind that cause Vianne’s insurpressible urge to relocate.
This morning: “I Drove All Night” playing in tune to the beat of my headache’s throbbing. A sick joke from my subconscious, starting off Sunday with Celine Dion. I think then I knew it would be a very disorienting day. Moved by things that are too obvious, too easy. Example: a fixation upon the wind. I think wind is so interesting; it is so powerful, so noisy, yet so invisible. The only indication of its presence are the impressions upon other things it leaves behind. Ugh, too easy, a sixth-grade theme.
Haven’t quite sat still all day. Haven’t quite done anything, either. Unless you count consuming half a jar of Nutella with a tablespoon and then washing it down with the obligatory two pieces of bread as doing something. And then when that (obvi) wasn’t quite right, and I devoured everything in the pantry (twice), the three days’ worth of caloric intake still wasn’t enough to overcome the most lethargic restlessness (oxymoron?) I’ve ever dealt with.
At least I fortified against a whole winter’s worth of wind. Quality consumption. No being blown away by any wayward blusters. And now? Left in several states too similar to Pooh’s: a still-raging wind, the chubby bear’s bloated belly, and his empty pantry. Oh bother. Now I’ve really got to get to a grocery mart. And a gym.