Cafes at midnight, toasts to old suffering, a volley of music from the Maseru slums.
I laughed a lot this weekend, which is exactly what I needed. I finished another story and it just hums - it is pretty damn weird, but I like the direction that my writing is taking. My late night ramblings have led me on some scintillating journeys, into some gorgeous places, down dirt-track roads into small, bright cities. Into shadowless clearings beneath the awning of Cassiopeia's Chair. This year - hands down the best writing I've ever done.
Friday, I slept, then drove out to Valpo to meet Chris, Amy, and Adam for pizza. On the way, I saw a distant thunderstorm wobble and flash, and sang to Radiohead (and felt weepy at the magisterial sweep of the music): "Walk into the jaws of hell." I was down but I laughed so much that I felt sick. We played Jenga/ Uno, and talked until it was very late, and then I drove home, cracked out on Adam's coffee. I wrote until four.
Saturday, I drove down to see Jeremy and Meredith and the boy. I got a lot out, and I'm so grateful that J. understands. We rode bikes and watched The Motorcycle Diaries (which I'd already seen, but it's one of my favorite movies) and hiked in suck-ass Prophetstown State Park (they should have called it Open Fields and RVs State Park) and ate in restaurants, and talked of the big things, and watched an entire season of "The Tick."
I got home yesterday and spent time with Aspen (my neice) on her fifth birthday. Gasp. Five. I'm old.
But I'm happy, truly, and very much alive. Disappointed, sure, but it's all in the rear view mirror now. I am an emotional person, and if I hadn't felt the pain that I had, I would've lost a little respect for myself. It was wonderous (still is) and, looking at how it has sparked my life and my art, absolutely beautiful as well. There are so many possibilites.
This summer looms like a monolith, a god. Did I tell you that I'm driving to San Francisco?
I laughed a lot this weekend, which is exactly what I needed. I finished another story and it just hums - it is pretty damn weird, but I like the direction that my writing is taking. My late night ramblings have led me on some scintillating journeys, into some gorgeous places, down dirt-track roads into small, bright cities. Into shadowless clearings beneath the awning of Cassiopeia's Chair. This year - hands down the best writing I've ever done.
Friday, I slept, then drove out to Valpo to meet Chris, Amy, and Adam for pizza. On the way, I saw a distant thunderstorm wobble and flash, and sang to Radiohead (and felt weepy at the magisterial sweep of the music): "Walk into the jaws of hell." I was down but I laughed so much that I felt sick. We played Jenga/ Uno, and talked until it was very late, and then I drove home, cracked out on Adam's coffee. I wrote until four.
Saturday, I drove down to see Jeremy and Meredith and the boy. I got a lot out, and I'm so grateful that J. understands. We rode bikes and watched The Motorcycle Diaries (which I'd already seen, but it's one of my favorite movies) and hiked in suck-ass Prophetstown State Park (they should have called it Open Fields and RVs State Park) and ate in restaurants, and talked of the big things, and watched an entire season of "The Tick."
I got home yesterday and spent time with Aspen (my neice) on her fifth birthday. Gasp. Five. I'm old.
But I'm happy, truly, and very much alive. Disappointed, sure, but it's all in the rear view mirror now. I am an emotional person, and if I hadn't felt the pain that I had, I would've lost a little respect for myself. It was wonderous (still is) and, looking at how it has sparked my life and my art, absolutely beautiful as well. There are so many possibilites.
This summer looms like a monolith, a god. Did I tell you that I'm driving to San Francisco?
Comments
Sorry we didn't get to go backpacking, and thank you for understanding that I couldn't. I'm really glad you came down anyway. It was a good compromise.