busy_and_bored past he worked enough to pay the bills. she worked more. the days passed in an uneven frenzy. there was a superficially parallel routine: they woke together, ate, went to work, and often got home about the same time. but at bedtime, when they settled in beside each other his mind had already shut off where hers was often still racing. the placid pace of his routines ebbed and flowed around his clients, who themselves were set in a grand annual rhythm. the seasons turned and the tasks changed, and he casually kept pace. if she didn't run, she'd fall. each day was fuller than the last. items fell — metaphorically and literally — off her desk. many only caught her attention when they later caught fire (fortunately only that one time a literal fire). she arrived home exhausted yet energized, afraid to slow down lest she drown. the tension grew slowly. first behind her eyes, then in his weary sighs, and finally in a fight that took them both by surprise even though it was a long time coming. she wished he'd show more ambition. take charge. he mourned the relaxed routine he thought they shared but belatedly realized was selfishly only his own. from fire can come new life, if not always balance. like a pine, the surprising heat of the encounter quickened the seed of something new, if given a chance to grow. 220414 ... past it can be hard to find the time to be bored, he thought lazily. the days start too early and the nights seem to be contracting as the sun takes its time to set. even the half moon is making its appearance in the brilliant blue sky. he wanted to world to inhale deeply, and swallow him whole, just for time to freeze. she sought to make plans to fill every moment, to stave off the debilitating sense of inadequacy that rises when she thinks about her place in the world too long. recently her days have been unstructured, that repressive freedom proving fertile soil for anxiety. tension grows in conflicting expectations. he remembers with disgust a planning boards statement that "public space is planned space." she looks at the yard and wants square metre to know, to strive towards its calling. "being able to be effortless," she whispered, "takes a lot of work." "but," he replied, "community can grow like dandelions. what looks like haphazard scattering is just connections being formed in the chaos. it takes time, but it can grow." she was impatient. the spread of the ubiquitous flower can take seasons. and besides there's always people thinking they're unworthy, rooting them out. "isn't that what the plan is?" she was looking out the window where their gardening tools were out. waiting for them. "but why can't we just let it decide what it wants to be?" 220509 what's it to you? who go blather from