In a way, it’s fitting that my mom is almost blind and I am slowly going almost blind–though I’ve been told that, if I start to see a sparkling ring around a black spot, I have to rush to the closest emergency room or the whole affair won’t be so slow nor so almost–because there are days when I just cannot bear to see anything any more.
They’re not days of great terribleness. Those days tend to be days you cannot help but look, so to be sure you have it. But days like this, of ordinary things that pass through your hands, onto the next person, and you, through some failure of imagination, cannot be imposed upon to give a shit long enough to figure out what it means or if it applies to you.
I just want to put my hands on something cold and rough and immobile. Maybe a tree or a large, flat stone, with two quick gouges from a skilled man’s hammer in it.
I too often gather things near me and arrange them and rearrange them like so many cards on a fortune teller’s table, looking for signs and omens and direction. Point me, point me the right way, oh, great and mysterious Universe.
I wanted so much for this whole house thing to work out. I wanted to believe that I had assurances of the mysterious kind that, if I opened myself up to it now, that the way would be clear.
I clearly was not getting the message. Assuming there was a message.
I’m tired of looking for messages, at messages, making messages for others.
Maybe this means… Maybe that means…
It doesn’t mean anything.
Like a dog’s belly doesn’t mean anything. Like a shard of glass by the side of the road doesn’t mean anything. Is, is, is.
I don’t know what I’m trying to get at here.
I have a wisteria I got from Beth, that I wanted to plant in the yard of a new house. It’s been so long since I got that wisteria that it has died, sitting there in that small pot. But then, it sprouted a new sprig.
And I want to say that I feel like that wisteria.
But I’m tired of metaphors.
I like you.
That’s what I know. That’s what I’m sure about. And it doesn’t mean anything.
It just is what it is for its own sake.
That works for me.