I had some clever title rise in my mind while taking my midnight bath that I do not recall. (I just, in typing this, recall it was something about a Midnight Bath.)
I wrote a few words at lunch which are lost to me now. I am already late if I were holding fast to rules.
There are so many things I wish I could write about here. The fact that my boss will be leaving and will no longer be my boss and there is no plan for me, so everyone suggested, nay, strongly encouraged me to make my own plan and my own plan should be their plan. And when I said, hmm, I think I’d prefer to wait and see and was told that was precisely right, everyone else said, hmm, I think if you wait and see, you’re fucked.
So, there’s that. When damn if I don’t need another moment of uncertainty in my universe for a good long while. The world is shaky enough for all of us these days.
And then there’s the endless new weirdness of this thing nobody can call by any name and this zippering of my ideas of pleasure into someone else’s idea of it. And at some points it’s wonderful to do that, delightful to be told you are beautiful, your voice is lovely, your presence so appealing it’s sending someone into conniptions (I may be saying certain things in a writerly sort of way so as to protect the innocent). At other points, I feel I’d rather run away to a monastery in the wilderness and live out my day pining for the small, media-born loves that have always buoyed me without question and in long, extended silences only broken when I called.
I don’t know if I can keep this up.