Blue Doors & The Static Under Late Night Radio

Meaningless noise with blips of late night radio.  I cut in and out of memory crossed with meaningful and even more meaningless nostalgia. I am a ghost of the person I was and ever will be. The only thing that hasn’t changed so avidly is my little cabin.

My first taste of late night radio was on a dull but comfortable winters night years ago. We were renting a little house on the lake and I layed in bed looking for something to entertain myself. I reached for our alarm clock and flipped on the radio. Through the static I found Laurie brown’s the signal. Cocorosie was on and I and shut off the lights. If I had known then what late night radio would mean for me later I don’t know what I would have thought. I most likely would have been terrified. I was so afraid then of what it meant to be alone, how could I have fathomed not only being alone but being alone in the woods willingly. 

I hit the dusty dirt road and my head lights shine dimly. I don’t stop to clean them or to turn the static off or the radio down or off. A massive bull elk crosses the road and stalks handsomely into the ditch. Bugger. 

I light a filthy dreaded cigarette and watch faint northern lights in the distance and the faint sliver of the last days light slip behind the tall evergreens. It is fall. I remember a woman at the cafe once told me that creativity needs to be acted on as soon as it strikes rather than postponed. Fading before the next thing happens. She was a writer. 

Isn’t it all just static. I can’t stand when people hear a song they’ve heard on the radio a thousand times and say, ” I love this song.” No you don’t. It’s just static. It’s the song you just heard for the first time that hangs at the edges of your being. This blog too is static. I’ve said it all haven’t I. It’s all the same thing over and over again. Everything’s changed again as life moves forward whether were ready or not. Underlying each new thing or accomplishment and even defeat. It is mostly brokenness. Lost. So much has changed and I know it’s supposed to feel good, but I feel like all I hear in all of it is static. The 3am alarm, the dogs, the cabins accomplishments, the aching. It’s the thing most people turn down or off. Static. 

I’ve lost myself in it and now it’s all there is. I bought a lot of material for the cabin today but the only thing that sticks out is a can of blue paint. I swore to myself three years ago I would paint the doors blue. It was something that I knew would piss a lot of people off (ugh not thhaaatttt shade of blue) and it just so happens to be one of my favorite colors. One of those things that you tell yourself you’ll do one day. “One day I’ll build a cabin and the doors will be blue.”  I didn’t plan on buying the blue paint and it came as a complete after thought at the hardware store today. The guy mixing the stain was so damn helpful I felt like I was admitting my darkest secret to him when I asked if he could mix blue paint. I went back to the lumber section and when I returned a big can of coffee coloured stain was on the counter and next to it a small can of paint with a drop of perfect blue on the lid. I beamed. Static paused for a split second. Standing in line as a small woman rang through my four carts of lumber, nails, joist hangers and glue all I could think about was the blue paint. Like I had this secret that I hid out in the most obvious spot so that nobody would notice. Five very annoyed men stood far down the isle holding one or two items glaring at me and my four massive carts. Where was my significant more carpentry acceptable other. What could this greasy woman with the holey blue wool socks possibly know about building. Lumber. Logging. Heavy equipment. 

Nobody could possibly see the intent behind such an innocent can of blue paint. 

– Cassandra 


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