Tuesday, May 12, 2009

A tunnel

Morning as a cave, no not morning it’s bright out a bright cave? It’s the way the light hits my eyes, forehead as cave. I hate the way this happens: everything gets worse, my sleep, and then I realize oh, that was better, last week was better except last week I was thinking: why don’t I feel better? Try to remember: that was better. That’s what better feels like.

So tired I don’t want to engage at all, I don’t even want to call the doctor who now has her own practice, because then I have to talk to someone on the phone, and say hi, I’d like to make an appointment. Once I’m on the phone it’s fine, but talking to someone like that at the time of the day when I have to talk to them feels like way too much. I like to make my appointments around 1 a.m., 1 a.m. when everything doesn’t feel so stressful maybe my forehead won’t hurt so much at 1 a.m.

Outside it’s like a tunnel, a tunnel through the light not into it I like the feeling of the sun on my face but it’s too bright. A tunnel because of the way sound keeps hitting the edges not quite into my ears my face what’s going on?

I keep waking up in the middle of the night thinking about all these things I want to write about growing up, high school especially but also before and for so long all of that seemed too awful and mundane I didn’t even want to think about it. Now it feels far enough away, and I especially want to write about privilege and the liberal imagination and the way it impacts kids under its sway, how it impacted me the way it felt like I would never get out from what I was supposed to be and I did. At least enough to see it, and maybe now I’m ready to talk more about the specifics of the everyday and its sway no I don’t want to make it abstract, I want to go into the center of it all and see what I can pull out.

2 comments:

Hilary Goldberg said...

did you go from the cave through the tunnel to the medicine woman?

xhil

mattilda bernstein sycamore said...

Only the cave and the tunnel, so far, but I'll keep you posted...

Love --
mattilda