I feel like the tree which has fallen in the forest with no one to hear it. Forget the question of whether or not it fell- was the tree ever even really there in the first place?
"She's come undone," said Wally Lamb and that is how I feel. Undone and drifting, arms like a marionette's, strings cut and dangling, mouth left clattering and voiceless, a trip to the trash depot almost more than I could bear, a stop by the post office where I got a magazine and in the space of one block, forgot it and left it in the car, not enough interest to go out and retrieve it.
I spent a good part of today rereading something I started writing years ago. Many, many pages and some of it- I swear- good enough to eat. I laughed out loud at some of the things I'd written. Did I write those things? How? What has happened to me? What happened to that woman who could sit and imagine worlds and people and weave together words to make it all almost real?
Ay-yi, and la-di-dah.
Tomorrow I'll be going to town to meet up with a friend after she has a "procedure."
And I don't mean getting botox.
Advice for the day: Fly while you fucking can.