Work, computer game, work! If you would be so kind.
For lunch, we had this spread of bruschetta and garlic broccoli and lemon cake and beets and cheese and crackers and grapes and watermelon and pineapple and wine. For a brief moment, I am an elegant lady. Amidst a stream of chatter and explanations about the miracles of our family’s collective berth onto these American shores and across these Great Plains to the placidity and pacificity of our suburban existences, my aunt and I plan things as though we have the skeins of floss that runs forever and a spinning wheel that is long past gold and just runs time back onto the clock. We should go everywhere. We should go everywhere now. I have basically, for reasons, decided not to go to Las Vegas in a month and a half. I don’t need to be there alone in a group. If I wanted to be there alone, I could go, but it is a hugely expensive journey for what I could feasibly get out of it which is an expensive backrub and some expensive entertainment including some expensive people watching. I imagine a big chunk of it would be spent in an expensive hotel room.
So I need another voyage. Another trip to some new place where I can be both an explorer and relax and not feel as though I am paying a ridiculous amount of money for it. I need a far-distant horizon, something I can do to pull me out of the excessive closeness I feel.
She doesn’t ask about you. She would be happy if I told her the void remains with all its inherent Voidyness; she is equally happy I have not. She doesn’t worry about it and tells me I look beautiful and this is as essential to me as air. What is frayed is smoothed. What is bothered is cooed at and calmed.
I am struggling with both content and tone. I am bereft of both. I am ready for having done and not for doing. But there’s only the path of one to get to the other.
A blush of positivity is the only thing that works. A faith that spurs rather than a lash that demands. A forward facing pain even if my fear gets the best of me from time to time, we press the reset button and the clothes fly around the ceiling and the bodies rewind, plump up and declench, stutter and settle and we give it another go. We have a few reasons floating about in our heads to encourage it, we have a few reasons not to.
Some Laura Marling on the dial. I’m not dead yet, I could be soon…
The Faithful Light does not tap her feet, she does not rap her knuckles against the wall, she does not show impatience with me. She is willing, always, fully, entirely to follow my steps as soon as I begin to walk them. But she cannot make me walk them against my will. It is this equanimity that creates a desire, though, a sangfroid that encourages passion. I am aware of this. I am aware.