I'm finally writing about you.
I reread that old email - the one that I almost died over, that hurt so terribly and felt impossibly cruel - the one about my story. And I laughed a little. Oh, poor heart. I was so afraid I could hear nothing but rejection in everything you said. Oh, the sleep I lost.
And oh, poor you, a little careless, a little too sharp and I was sent spinning for months, licking my wounds.
Which is to say sometimes time does ease up a little on that hurt. Which is to say, I'm sorry.
I'll send this off into nothing, into air, into the hands of other people who will carry it around for me and spread the good news of time, wrinkles, grey hair and heart disease.
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4 comments:
Bother... I've ruined the surprise?! I'm always doing that. The other day Frank bought a bunch of great looking books and I moaned and complained and asked where were the flowers he could have bought me. He went all funny and told me I'd ruined his surprise because he had planned to buy me flowers in the afternoon... I felt really, really, low down mean spirited. Thankfully he surprised me with a lovely bunch a few days later. Next time I'll work at keeping my mouth shut (and my typing fingers still!).
And one thing I don't like about the perspective of time is that I feel all silly for reacting so emotionally about something that now seems pretty unimportant... good on you for, you know, contacting St Louis to clear it up a bit. :)
nester -
i found you here because you mentioned embracing me plutonically there on rainbowdull. i read all of this you have written. some of it twice.
"Les Oiseaux" i read outloud. i live in texas. we have blackbirds by the mobs. we do not have birds that pick up tangled strings of french frequency when they fly, as if birds left a jet stream of stretched taffy like trailed off whispering conversations we strained but could not quite catch. splendid.
my favorite line on this page: "There is only so much impending death one girl can absorb." i am glad you spend your days mouthing essays and words into existence. i'll be back for more of this. and with caffeine.
also, i'm glad you went to that little town of 100. i'm amazed at how freely Jesus dances on the outside of our christianity. He is a wild man. a wild man, i tell you!
ps. so, um, what happened with the dude who caught you strapless? you've intrigued us.
it's alright, cecily. by the time i get around to mailing them (yours and the others) you will have forgotten it was coming to you!
ya, not so good on me. st.louis won't be reading this. more of admitting and purging my own heart than anything else.
hamster,
the rodents have not been represented here at all. i'm glad you showed up. and i'm glad you write like a holy demon. or godly banshee. or something equally wild with abandonment. your writing does my self good.
i'll keep you all posted on "the dude" in the silly, secretive ways that i have. nothing to report at the moment.
You do have secretive ways. That's a perfect way to put it. I wish I could be more like that. Less vomit-y. It's alluring.
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