This afternoon:
A fin of exhaustion runs vertically through me and I lay me head down to hear the internal buzzing that spells sleep. This is not ideal business meeting behaviour. What is it that has me wishing for a shock to the heart? Surely everyone can manage the every day of every day. There is something so uphill about having to mange everything on your own. The number of times I've wished to only have my cothes, my mess. Oh god I can feel the carpet in my old life underfoot. I know the consistency of the air as I wak through each room in my mind. I know the quality of the light in all corners, all corners.
There are squatting ghost forms.
The day I moved out all of my brother's friends, one with new baby in tow came notionally to help me shift house but in fact one by one they stole away to tie ribbons around their memories leaving their bright trails around the property. This recurring synaesthesia, hope emboldened because I do not have the time for constant vigilance. But these days ss I turn the key in the front door I notice an absence of displacement. Before, before I realised I was still alive the sense of displacement peaked at the click of the tumbler in the lock, it said to me - you are not here. Now I am an expert at the slight downwards pressure of the top key that enables the handle to be turned with one hand. The cat has a new place to stand and wait impatiently as the door opens. I have a place here but it is not without the long tail of where I've been.
This evening:
A long walk and an unexpected phone call from my housemates shook the cloak from my shoulders and patched over the vertical split of memories. The walk home broken up on King St with coffee and a newspaper sitting happily in wait for my housemates to join me for dinner. I laughed away an hour in Happy Chef with The Spatula and Grizelda and wandered, new book in hand, to discover a new kind of chocolate sorbet. I think there has been a change in the light.
A fin of exhaustion runs vertically through me and I lay me head down to hear the internal buzzing that spells sleep. This is not ideal business meeting behaviour. What is it that has me wishing for a shock to the heart? Surely everyone can manage the every day of every day. There is something so uphill about having to mange everything on your own. The number of times I've wished to only have my cothes, my mess. Oh god I can feel the carpet in my old life underfoot. I know the consistency of the air as I wak through each room in my mind. I know the quality of the light in all corners, all corners.
There are squatting ghost forms.
The day I moved out all of my brother's friends, one with new baby in tow came notionally to help me shift house but in fact one by one they stole away to tie ribbons around their memories leaving their bright trails around the property. This recurring synaesthesia, hope emboldened because I do not have the time for constant vigilance. But these days ss I turn the key in the front door I notice an absence of displacement. Before, before I realised I was still alive the sense of displacement peaked at the click of the tumbler in the lock, it said to me - you are not here. Now I am an expert at the slight downwards pressure of the top key that enables the handle to be turned with one hand. The cat has a new place to stand and wait impatiently as the door opens. I have a place here but it is not without the long tail of where I've been.
This evening:
A long walk and an unexpected phone call from my housemates shook the cloak from my shoulders and patched over the vertical split of memories. The walk home broken up on King St with coffee and a newspaper sitting happily in wait for my housemates to join me for dinner. I laughed away an hour in Happy Chef with The Spatula and Grizelda and wandered, new book in hand, to discover a new kind of chocolate sorbet. I think there has been a change in the light.
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