The Grass is Blue

Purple flowers, purple hearts, but green blades from Hue

A very clever album title from Dolly Parton - The Grass is Blue - her first album of bluegrass music that she released sometime in 1999 or thereabouts. Tonight, I`m listening to it as I try feverishly to get through my to-do list. The experimental expectations have been sketched out, the slides have been sent out, the discussions have been had, an a bonus meeting was had – a pleasant diversion no less, or so I was told. Then it was home to the shoebox where clothes were folded, dirt kicked under the bed and food ate. So I can tick off the items from the to-do list, and yet I feel unsatisfied. That’s because I’ve got one more thing to tick off after finishing this post, and that’s to go to sleep early. Must. Sleep.

The road to Pemberton is paved with forgetting
The weekend was spent in Pemberton with the good the usual suspects. There were different motivations for leaving. I can’t say much about their motivations, but for me it was distraction for the mind to leave fates that I have no control over behind. For a few days anyway. It worked for the most part and I forgot what I didn’t want to remember until we stopped at the coffee store with the green, white and black decor, and the coffee maker shouted something out which made me wince, and mutter under my breath that certain names should be outlawed. I thought I muttered, but apparently I didn’t because RP snapped to attention and asked me what name, why, and what did it have to do with the price of tea in China – not really, he’d more likely have asked about the price of pasta in Italy – but really, that’s the same thing isn’t it since the genesis of pasta is Chinese, or so we’re told. Still, we were already on our way back, so I suppose that I might as well have been plunged back into that which I wanted to avoid instead of a slow descent into the cold waters of reality. Get it over with quickly, I say. Now, however, the sleepless nights in Pemberton (was overly warm in the room) are catching up with me, and tomorrow, I have machines to warm up, cajole and calibrate, I have to wiggle little teeny tubes onto sharp needles and worst of all, I have to weigh tubes. Weighing tubes to 4 decimal places has got to be the worse job in the world. It is utterly boring and mind-numbing. However, it must be done, and done well for one must have integrity in all that one does – that is the first Agreement.  Actually today – more dilemmas about North and South, Dr. C – I barely passed the first Agreement – I’d grade myself about a C+. I didn’t lie, I was on my way home, it was a meeting, it was unexpected, but I still felt guilty about the decisions I made – this my dear readers, is what morality is all about. I may not have done lied, but I didn’t behave with complete integrity because I put myself before my word to another, and that’s bad.

Porter is unimpressed with my morals
And for what? I’m still not sure, I hope that time will tell, but time is more likely to smile enigmatically and go tick-tock, tick-tock. Most annoying when you want an answer. Of course, it doesn’t really matter because even if I had the answer – even the answer I think I want – I’d immediately change my mind once I got it. I bet I’d feel pressured, feel trapped and generally be pushing my Dyson around to get rid of the dust and think of what ML said when heard that they were going to pet-sit again, “People – they’re so dusty!”

So no, I’m not very impressed with myself today. Aside from the C+ for the integrity, I’d score myself a B and A, respectively, for not taking things personally nor making assumptions. For the fourth Agreement, doing my best, well, I have to give myself a B- , a mix of grades for accomplishing my to do list, and a D for bad moral decisions. Maybe I should lower my standards and just be ravening. OH! I just thought of something – It’s all karma – it must be because yesterday I saw someone who let me down twice, and he’s put on weight. That in itself is not crime, but what is criminal is the message I sent to RP. Something about how the best revenge is to see someone put on more weight than you. It makes me feel so slender and lean somehow. Anyway – obviously this bit of bad behaviour came back to bite me today.

Primal Scream Therapy to lift paint off the walls
Oh. I was going to describe the weekend and only ended up talking about myself – it’s because my mind is wandering, because I’m distracted, because I can’t think clearly from lack of sleep. Well, I’ll tell you one more thing – something I shared with BK – but don’t expect to understand it unless you know BK, or have been to Turkey and got a haircut. You see, I told BK that I’d been lifting my fourth finger so much lately, it has biceps now. Teeny ones, but they’re there and you can feel them, not that anyone other than me has, and they’re obvious, not that anyone, but me – and I don’t count for much in this particular observation – has noticed. And horror of horrors, BK, or perhaps it was KB, immediately asked whether I was mocking him – a sheer failure on his part of the second and third Agreements – and I had to tell him (quite truthfully) that I was mocking myself, and using his story of the Moving Turkish Fourth Finger as inspiration because, you see BK, it fecking describes everything so fecking well that I want to go back to Primal Scream Therapy again.

Making soup, not lemonade, from lemons
P.S. The reason for Dolly Parton is because I’m taking advice from the title song about how to make lemonade from Meyer Lemons, and thinking about opposites – about high valleys, level mountains and rivers that flow backwards, or skies that are green and grass that is blue. And why not, why not think about falling into realms of insanity, snow in the tropics and ice on the sun, and the sky is green, and the grass is blue – pure genius, the imagery in this lovely, lovely, lovely melody.