December 4, 2006
the weight is a gift
it is 10.36 on a monday night. one of my housemates has been away at a circus convention in wollongong; he just cartwheeled into my room, thrust a coopers into my hand, hugged me hello and bombarded me with all the exuberance i remember having at 19, too. so sweet.
neil young is singing about his cinnamon girl (oh to be living in laurel canyon in 1971. *sighs*), and all is well with the world for tonight.
this pic reminds me of a time when i was momentarily flush with happiness amidst a maelstrom of heartsickness. everything i love is in it: the wide open sky, a relic replete with a billion stories and lives not too far away, beautiful language and flavours to tempt it into song, and silver halides and peoples i loves...
it will have to stand in for sitting in sugardough on sunday, catching myself just happy, though - i didn't have a camera with me, for once. i had a slut red bowl of hot tomato, roasted capsicum and chorizo soup and a plate of crusty sourdough in front of me, and was poring over didion at a tiny one-person table in the corner, and (despite the book being an exploration of what grief and mourning can do to an otherwise rational mind) an uncharacteristic stillness sat beside me. though sad, it's never indulgent. beautifully written, it is a document all the more powerful for its measured detachment in circumstances where a little indulgence would actually be easily forgiven.
earlier that day, the ATM had ripped me off $50. the gal at the caf had burnt my hand to the point of blistering by spilling hot oil on it.
nothing could make me angry. my total lack of angst shocked me.
for years, i had been told 'let it go' and words to this effect, being someone prone to obsessing. it was like riding a bike; i could do it once i stopped *trying* to do it.
maybe it was the memoir, maybe it was the music i've been listening to lately, maybe it was nothing more than the blazing summer-y sun and hope just loitering by that horizon i'm in love with, a cheeky smile splashed across its gob.
i've come too far to not know what to do with this: happiness doesn't have to last - i don't think it's in its nature. in the book, didion talks about loving someone 'more than one more day'. for ages, i've been thinking about who and what i love more than my next breath...
moments like these. juicier for their unexpectedness.
Posted by reuben at December 4, 2006 10:33 PM
Reading this is like watching your soul remembering how it feels to sing... it's a lovely echo of a lightness that I've been feeling emanating from you.
Bring on Perth and co-habitation, I say. I'd offer to cartwheel beer into your room but I'm FAR too uncoordinated and would likely kick you in the nose.
Posted by: elaine at December 5, 2006 9:14 AM