equal parts delightful and devastating
I've been listening to Destroyer since Nicole texted me from the show in Portland on Saturday. That's probably where it all began.
Chani said today called for "ceiling therapy". I tried to work, I did, but then school called and the kid was sick, and now he's home, and not sick anymore (such is the way), and I'm thinking of all the things I need to do, and all of the things that I want to do, and all of the things I don't do anymore, and here I am.
I dreamt of Jake last night, in the usual way I seem to dream of him: out of nowhere, he's there, confused at everyone's incredulousness. This time it was just him and me, and we were outside somewhere, here, and he looked around and said, "it sucks that it never snows here." And then I woke up, the first night I slept through until morning in months.
The first thing I read this morning was a reference to Kay Redfield Jamison's An Unquiet Mind, which was one of the two books I planned on sharing with him before he died. We didn't get to either one. I actually had a running list in my mind that week: Things to Tell Jake About When You Talk to Him. There was a lot. I knew I would need to set aside a good chunk of time. I couldn't seem to find it. And then. And then there was nothing but time.
Now it's the afternoon, and raining. Some chicken or pillow or something truck must have crashed on La Cienega overnight, because every time I drove down the hill today, thousands of little white feathers skittered around in the wind, like so much snow.
Chani said today called for "ceiling therapy". I tried to work, I did, but then school called and the kid was sick, and now he's home, and not sick anymore (such is the way), and I'm thinking of all the things I need to do, and all of the things that I want to do, and all of the things I don't do anymore, and here I am.
I dreamt of Jake last night, in the usual way I seem to dream of him: out of nowhere, he's there, confused at everyone's incredulousness. This time it was just him and me, and we were outside somewhere, here, and he looked around and said, "it sucks that it never snows here." And then I woke up, the first night I slept through until morning in months.
The first thing I read this morning was a reference to Kay Redfield Jamison's An Unquiet Mind, which was one of the two books I planned on sharing with him before he died. We didn't get to either one. I actually had a running list in my mind that week: Things to Tell Jake About When You Talk to Him. There was a lot. I knew I would need to set aside a good chunk of time. I couldn't seem to find it. And then. And then there was nothing but time.
Now it's the afternoon, and raining. Some chicken or pillow or something truck must have crashed on La Cienega overnight, because every time I drove down the hill today, thousands of little white feathers skittered around in the wind, like so much snow.
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