(no subject)
House is empty, with silence that is punctuated occasionally by a sound on the street. It's friday night, Travers weekend in Saratoga. New Yorkers are visiting the hotels and restaurants. Now this city is an overflow destination. If I didn't feel so pathetic- in the house, wearing glasses, sitting with one lamp on- I might go out. From here, I can see squirrels stretching their bellies out on the neighbor's stair rail as the sun goes down. It is humid again. I will stay here.
My rebellious eyes! When I have not been taking good enough care, sleeping enough, feeling calm, my left eye gets a pain in it. It does not swell, or get red. It just hurts and wants to shut, and my face looks tired. I am forced to wear glasses. The funny things stress does to my body...
C. has gone to Burning Man. I didn't want to go. No gasoline, kerosene, hot desert with alkaline sand. It is not my idea of a vacation, I say. I have no desire to watch tribal burnings, to revisit rave culture, or to be a woman of the desert. Someone once told me the story of a woman who pretended to be a man to learn about Islamic culture and drowned in the desert. It seemed a romantic way to go. But what are the chances of it?
I am not ready to go.
I will work on a painting this weekend, and love my empty house.
The only alternative to this that I would consider is another weekend with S., in the town of Athens, NY. Perhaps I should have called her. She has been so busy... There is more the explore there. I would help her move into the new house. Maybe I will escape there a few more times before the snow.
My rebellious eyes! When I have not been taking good enough care, sleeping enough, feeling calm, my left eye gets a pain in it. It does not swell, or get red. It just hurts and wants to shut, and my face looks tired. I am forced to wear glasses. The funny things stress does to my body...
C. has gone to Burning Man. I didn't want to go. No gasoline, kerosene, hot desert with alkaline sand. It is not my idea of a vacation, I say. I have no desire to watch tribal burnings, to revisit rave culture, or to be a woman of the desert. Someone once told me the story of a woman who pretended to be a man to learn about Islamic culture and drowned in the desert. It seemed a romantic way to go. But what are the chances of it?
I am not ready to go.
I will work on a painting this weekend, and love my empty house.
The only alternative to this that I would consider is another weekend with S., in the town of Athens, NY. Perhaps I should have called her. She has been so busy... There is more the explore there. I would help her move into the new house. Maybe I will escape there a few more times before the snow.