So, dear readers, Flap-nation if you will, I have, as usual been constantly composing tepid entries in my mind for lo these past months. But there they have stayed, knocking around with other gray matter notables like: My screen play about living in the UK in the early ‘80s and my children’s novel that will be a blend of Homer Price and Swallows and Amazons.
But! Gone is the tension elf/stress monkey/bitch beetle of deep winter that birthed this blog. Here we have Flapdoodle, arrived in the promised land and I have been forced to ask myself, does Flapdoodle belong here in this blessed place that I longed to arrive at for the past two years?
A land free of being graded on my library prowess skills. Free from driving one hour south for three hour classes. Yes, at last I can be in my house and not have to stare at the pile of fetid this, the lump of suspicious that, indeed, everything that I have had to tacitly ignore while in school--things, issues and situations that I actually longed to do, because it would mean that having the time to say, sort my kids toys or actually fold my undies would prove that I no longer had to spend every free moment on obtaining proof that I am a librarian. All I can say is: It is highly unlikely that I will ever find stuff to stop complaining about. So without further ado, let the tirade begin!
IT'S ABOUT TIME
I often think of this phrase from BOC’s “Burnin’ for You:” “Time to play B-sides” That’s what inspired this blog entry--I was thinking about it again, and wondering what the lyrics were that went ‘fore and ‘aft of this apt phrase when, I sh*t you not, it came on the radio! And damn if that whole song isn’t awesome. Here’s the stanza with the B-sides phrase:
Time is the essence
Time is the season
Time ain't no reason
Got no time to slow
Time everlasting
Time to play B-sides
Time ain't on my side
Time I'll never know
Sing it, BOC!!!
It came on the radio just after I turned it on, having settled into a sort-n-root session in the bathroom cabinets. I was holding this stupid can of suede protector propellent and realizing that if I didn’t throw this rusty can away TODAY it was very likely that Archie and Lucy were gonna find it in the medicine cabinet of my old-lady house when they are sorting through crap trying to figure out what was worth running past the estate sale agent.
I was also having my usual baby-sitting quandary at the time, which is, should I be doing this chore, or another errand or what? I get so paralyzed when I have childcare--and hell if I don’t have a chore list that would choke a horse. It’s always the agonizing question, Is this the best use of my time?
To me, the longing for “time to play B-sides has always summed up the way your day just gets sucked up with the basest of basics-- cooking, eating, shoving laundry around, emptying and filling the dishwasher.
Damn, you know what I wish I had the time to do? And I mean, I wish I had the time to do it without sacrificing to time to prep dinner, or vacuum the living room or change my sheets. I just wish I could go downtown, park my car, go into that cute little kitchen store and pick out a funnel. Because I could really use one. And I would like to buy one at that cute little shop. But funnel shopping is officially a B-side, and there it stays. For now.
Full Flap-disclosure, I wrote this entry with UNBELIEVABLE fumes from the roof job coming through the window. So if it’s not up to the usual standards, there’s your clue.
