A room of one's own...
[[Private]]
One would think Id appreciate the space, opening into a sudden vastness, a profound vacancy of distractions & interruptions. I should appreciate the stillness, which only my own movement eddies about me in slow determination. But I cant. Because this emptiness contains a loneliness that threatens to suffocate me. I am pulled taut in two directions. When I left L. for college, even after the prep school disaster he understood when we parted to different cities to pursue that lofty higher education, we thought ourselves grown so sophisticated, maintaining - & graciously allowing each other room because we knew with the sureness of young idiocy that we're not to be undone. And I am grateful. But now, T's had to rush away. Not her fault, of course, but I want to rage. I am tied to Miami & Boston, but find myself stymied in Bartleby, NY.
Ive taken the spare frame & lofted the bed, concealing the springs in the extra closet; the second mattress stacked upon my own. One desk, devoted to school work I braced the wobbly loft-work with, meaning it's turned perpendicular to the frame and pinning the join to the wall. A too small cubby - almost claustrophobic, but I find the wide void of the room unnerving. And positioned here, I can admire the view from the window. The second desk I have requisitioned for personal writing and research, partially as I find my assignments so disparate, not from my peculiar interests, but in form and function. The collegiate mindset is something other than I'm used to. Also I cannot take all the classes that I wish. This is a neat way of dividing the information I am attempting to process. The other dresser has been reserved for - let us call them - entertainments, & I have acquired another chair to accommodate the occasional guest.
I have submitted to The Black Bough, as Tom had asked me - & been rejected. Quite rightly too. 'Parallel Lines' lacked the necessary cohesion & was certainly too rushed an endeavor; the plot too convoluted, when it should be absolute simplicity. I agree that the whole thing's a muddle. I can see how it's all wrong. I shall throw it to the bottom of the deepest drawer & allow it to ferment. We shall see if I manage wine or vinegar in the end.
Still, I am finding a way through these days - faulty & teetering, like first steps. I muddle through this sensation of solitude. I have built my own space before certainly, but never so much in the company of strangers. I have done all of this before, & yet it is strikingly new.
One would think Id appreciate the space, opening into a sudden vastness, a profound vacancy of distractions & interruptions. I should appreciate the stillness, which only my own movement eddies about me in slow determination. But I cant. Because this emptiness contains a loneliness that threatens to suffocate me. I am pulled taut in two directions. When I left L. for college, even after the prep school disaster he understood when we parted to different cities to pursue that lofty higher education, we thought ourselves grown so sophisticated, maintaining - & graciously allowing each other room because we knew with the sureness of young idiocy that we're not to be undone. And I am grateful. But now, T's had to rush away. Not her fault, of course, but I want to rage. I am tied to Miami & Boston, but find myself stymied in Bartleby, NY.
Ive taken the spare frame & lofted the bed, concealing the springs in the extra closet; the second mattress stacked upon my own. One desk, devoted to school work I braced the wobbly loft-work with, meaning it's turned perpendicular to the frame and pinning the join to the wall. A too small cubby - almost claustrophobic, but I find the wide void of the room unnerving. And positioned here, I can admire the view from the window. The second desk I have requisitioned for personal writing and research, partially as I find my assignments so disparate, not from my peculiar interests, but in form and function. The collegiate mindset is something other than I'm used to. Also I cannot take all the classes that I wish. This is a neat way of dividing the information I am attempting to process. The other dresser has been reserved for - let us call them - entertainments, & I have acquired another chair to accommodate the occasional guest.
I have submitted to The Black Bough, as Tom had asked me - & been rejected. Quite rightly too. 'Parallel Lines' lacked the necessary cohesion & was certainly too rushed an endeavor; the plot too convoluted, when it should be absolute simplicity. I agree that the whole thing's a muddle. I can see how it's all wrong. I shall throw it to the bottom of the deepest drawer & allow it to ferment. We shall see if I manage wine or vinegar in the end.
Still, I am finding a way through these days - faulty & teetering, like first steps. I muddle through this sensation of solitude. I have built my own space before certainly, but never so much in the company of strangers. I have done all of this before, & yet it is strikingly new.