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Rambling ennui
Wednesday, 3 December 2003 07:01 amI Have Given Up Reading Books; I Find It Takes My Mind Off Myself.*
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Have I mentioned the Christmas lights on Kildare are on? Just as lovely as ever, of course. And the house on the corner has more lights than they did last year—a fringe of old blue ones (old because the paint is fading, the color only a suggestion of blue in some places) around the eaves, then newer blue ones (my favorite color, a deep turquoise) on the south railing of the porch, and what I believe is a very new blue (a very deep, truer blue) on the front and north railings. There's also a reindeer, one that changes from white lights to white, green and red lights. It's actually a bit difficult to make sense of just what he is when he's multi-colored. The first time he changed I thought there was something bad happening to my vision.
I'm feeling exceptionally lonely today; not all day, but suddenly, around 10 this morning it just dropped over me like a blanket. It was an act of will to walk to Wendy's for lunch; I had to tell myself to put one foot in front of the other, that I was hungry, that food would help. (It didn't.) Some of it is that my father is dead, and I'm suddenly feeling it.
I've been pondering this for a while, my tendency toward delayed reaction. I don't seem to get the message, whatever it is, while I'm having an experience. My mind puts intense moments into a holding cell, waiting for my body to get used to them. Father goes to phantom father, goes to no father. But it's not just bad things; good things require an act of will, and even then there's this me-voice saying, "Look at this, you will want to remember it, touch it, taste it, listen to it, you will want to remember, this is good." Riding through the rain to Long Island, giggling with Pat about the sunroof (just a shame we didn't have a Winfield Special). Holding Celia's hand. The secretary in my brain wanted to write it all down before it disappeared, and even now, I'm recovering memories that want to burst out of me like helium in an over-filled balloon.
I don't seem to be able to live in the moment, and I'm not sure why not. Is it that everything that happens has to penetrate all the layers of protective padding I've put up, to keep myself from being hurt? Is it some inherent emotional/psychological flaw? I know that in-the-moment intense emotion is so painful, I run from it, metaphorically and literally. "It's all right," I say, preemptively, trying to smooth over any discomfort. It makes my heart race, it frightens me, even when it's good.
I don't know what I'm talking about.
The sky was sooty last night, the sunset full of old rose and indigo filtered through gray smoke. It was sort of hovering above the line of lighter sky, just in the tree line, a backdrop to the dark, leafless trees. I kept staring at it, it was so dark and beautiful and portentous. If it had been a movie, I'd've gone home, coughed long into the night, and died of consumption just before dawn.
Everything seems out of place. We had Thanksgiving without my father. We'll have winter, and Christmas without him. It's quieter, easier; my mother and I laugh a lot. But it's off-balance, everything is off-balance. Maybe that's why it seems like I can't walk anymore, why I run into walls, and feel like I'm going to trip over things that aren't there.
And for no reason I can understand I keep reliving the heady ride back to the hotel from my short tryst with the Cyclone. I was devouring the buildings with my eyes, absorbing the moments through my pores, remembering it all so hard it would make such a deep impression you could slide a pencil across my next life and still read the water against my ankles, the sand in my shoes. Something in my brain is stuck, and I'm sure if I just turn around, I'll be back there.
It hasn't happened yet.
*Oscar Levant
-:- -:- -:- -:-
Have I mentioned the Christmas lights on Kildare are on? Just as lovely as ever, of course. And the house on the corner has more lights than they did last year—a fringe of old blue ones (old because the paint is fading, the color only a suggestion of blue in some places) around the eaves, then newer blue ones (my favorite color, a deep turquoise) on the south railing of the porch, and what I believe is a very new blue (a very deep, truer blue) on the front and north railings. There's also a reindeer, one that changes from white lights to white, green and red lights. It's actually a bit difficult to make sense of just what he is when he's multi-colored. The first time he changed I thought there was something bad happening to my vision.
I'm feeling exceptionally lonely today; not all day, but suddenly, around 10 this morning it just dropped over me like a blanket. It was an act of will to walk to Wendy's for lunch; I had to tell myself to put one foot in front of the other, that I was hungry, that food would help. (It didn't.) Some of it is that my father is dead, and I'm suddenly feeling it.
I've been pondering this for a while, my tendency toward delayed reaction. I don't seem to get the message, whatever it is, while I'm having an experience. My mind puts intense moments into a holding cell, waiting for my body to get used to them. Father goes to phantom father, goes to no father. But it's not just bad things; good things require an act of will, and even then there's this me-voice saying, "Look at this, you will want to remember it, touch it, taste it, listen to it, you will want to remember, this is good." Riding through the rain to Long Island, giggling with Pat about the sunroof (just a shame we didn't have a Winfield Special). Holding Celia's hand. The secretary in my brain wanted to write it all down before it disappeared, and even now, I'm recovering memories that want to burst out of me like helium in an over-filled balloon.
I don't seem to be able to live in the moment, and I'm not sure why not. Is it that everything that happens has to penetrate all the layers of protective padding I've put up, to keep myself from being hurt? Is it some inherent emotional/psychological flaw? I know that in-the-moment intense emotion is so painful, I run from it, metaphorically and literally. "It's all right," I say, preemptively, trying to smooth over any discomfort. It makes my heart race, it frightens me, even when it's good.
I don't know what I'm talking about.
The sky was sooty last night, the sunset full of old rose and indigo filtered through gray smoke. It was sort of hovering above the line of lighter sky, just in the tree line, a backdrop to the dark, leafless trees. I kept staring at it, it was so dark and beautiful and portentous. If it had been a movie, I'd've gone home, coughed long into the night, and died of consumption just before dawn.
Everything seems out of place. We had Thanksgiving without my father. We'll have winter, and Christmas without him. It's quieter, easier; my mother and I laugh a lot. But it's off-balance, everything is off-balance. Maybe that's why it seems like I can't walk anymore, why I run into walls, and feel like I'm going to trip over things that aren't there.
And for no reason I can understand I keep reliving the heady ride back to the hotel from my short tryst with the Cyclone. I was devouring the buildings with my eyes, absorbing the moments through my pores, remembering it all so hard it would make such a deep impression you could slide a pencil across my next life and still read the water against my ankles, the sand in my shoes. Something in my brain is stuck, and I'm sure if I just turn around, I'll be back there.
It hasn't happened yet.
*Oscar Levant