Sunday, August 05, 2007

We all had histories

Speaking of the end of an era, my favorite part of the 12 hours I spend in bed is that first five minutes, thinking yes, why has it taken me so long to get here -- this is where I should have been all day! But then there’s that 12 hours, really 12? Yes, 12 -- but what's the point? Though I'm glad the acupuncturist said my pulses felt stronger than she would have expected, given all of my symptoms -- she said it must be doing you some good, to stay in bed all that time.

Meanwhile, waking up into an entirely different world or is this just the world of eight tiny sugar pellets? It's a new dose of the homeopathic remedy, why couldn't this remedy have arrived earlier, before the last two weeks? It's like the light coming through the blinds is suddenly different, I'm different, the light coming through the blinds. But then I have to cook, and my right wrist is back to a tragic state of tension, but sitting on the fire escape is still the sensation, especially now that it’s not so humid anymore, the air actually feels fresh.

Back inside, for some reason I start thinking about all the random people I used to be friends with, I miss my friendships with random people -- we all had histories, that's what connected us, not necessarily that we would ever see the world in similar ways. I think there’s a certain kind of knowledge and intimacy that comes from that type of relationship, I guess that's what I'm missing. Not that I spend that much time with anyone, really -- mostly I'm in my apartment or walking down the street, trying not to crash too hard because that's when it hurts most. It happens anyway -- the day fades and then I find myself lying on the stretching mat thinking can I get up, I mean I know I'm going to get up but why?

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