Views

This morning, out my window as I worked through another long night into the day, the sky flared with Easter egg streamers of purple, pink, and orange. The craggy face of the mountain looked like molten hammered copper jutting out against the deep purple and black veins of darkness. The deeply fissured bark of the squirrels' favorite tree bled reddish-gold as if on fire, despite the blackened skeletal fingers reaching toward the sky and ground. As the light became brighter, ghostly mists turned to crisped brown leaves shifting and swirling with the rising breezes. Birds darted across the pale blue like cut-out silhouettes racing for worms sluggish with cold and damp. Just another Colorado morning lost to those whose eyes are heavy with sleep and eager to snuggle deeper into the warmth of comforter and covers.

It seems as though mornings like this are my reward for nights of fractured and lost sleep while I continue to scurry for work. I've been told numerous times that it will get better, but the signs are not there. Instead I work in sporadic bursts throughout the days and nights, alienating new friends who do not understand the nature and vagaries of my life right now. At times I seem distant and depressed when in fact I am simply stressed and angling for whatever work is available. I am at the mercy of my task mistresses on the east coast who view the world in time at their disposal and are not flexible to my needs and wants. It is always so.

C'est la vie -- or so they say.

Now it's on to another day of naps and appointments and chasing work until the sky bleeds and darkens towards night before spinning around towards the dawn of another sleepless, work filled day and further alienation of those I care about. Supposedly next week ends this frustrating quest for sufficient work to keep body and soul together and find enough left over for the holidays and time to spend with friends. I guess I'll soon see.

Next week also begins my quest for the elusive novel written in one month's time for National Novel Writing Month

I wonder if my friends can hold out long enough for the road to smooth out.