Thursday, February 02, 2012

Honesty in a place of pain

One more time at the beach and I want to savor it, this feeling under my feet, chilly air and then the water, not as chilly as I thought, so soothing the water that little kid feeling yes that little kid feeling yes. I wasn't planning on bringing the computer out on the train, but then they advertised WiFi in the parlor car -- really, WiFi in the parlor car? No, not really. But now I have the computer out.

Thinking about this sinus headache in the recycled air. Thinking about traveling and how it destroys me. Thinking about why. Why? I just want to go home. I don't have a home.

Soon, San Francisco. I'm not looking forward to San Francisco -- a month in San Francisco, what will that feel like? Will it feel like home? I don't have a home. Not now. When?

A month in San Francisco, Davka asked if it felt haunted. I'm not sure yet. I mean I'm sure, but I'm not sure what it will feel like. Staying on the same block where I used to live, a sublet. I did like that block: where I used to live, it felt like home, at least in my apartment, or sitting on the fire escape in the sun.

A relationship with the clouds, that's what I'm developing. What I developed in Santa Fe: hopefully this will help in Seattle. On that fire escape in San Francisco I used to watch the clouds too, so it started before, before Santa Fe. On the beach in Santa Barbara, watching the sky blend with water blend with clouds and then I'm gone, on the train, moving too slowly towards a place where I don't even want to be really. Maybe after I rest? What does that feel like -- rest?

Actually I slept well in Santa Barbara, but every time I check in and think how do I feel: sadness. Sometimes relaxed and sad, those are the good moments. Not usually. Travel: but then the train station with Davka, you see how travel can bring you to these people. To you. To me. To us.

I want to dream, but I am traveling. Travel is the place for dreams, like when the train starts and we are on a cliff overlooking the ocean and suddenly I don't feel so awful. For a few minutes. And then. I feel awful.

Davka says such beautiful things -- about me, about my work, about honesty in a place of pain and I am hopeful. I want to be hopeful. I try to be hopeful. Sometimes I am not hopeful. Davka and I take pictures -- the two of us together, some of them I don't like and some of them she doesn't like and some of them neither of us likes so we delete most of them but now I'm hoping that I still like the one that we liked. The most.

Maybe that's part of the train starting, on a cliff overlooking the ocean and honesty in a place of pain but suddenly everything brightens. And then it's gone.