A post, pre bedtime
You know when you are so tired your eyes itch and no steady stream of thinking comes. And sleep becomes academic although desirable, and also something a little bit fearful. What if it never comes again? (For example.)
This is a photo, or two photos, of lichen (top) and an aerial view of flamingoes from way, way up high (bottom). They go well together, I think.
Since I last wrote Si fell through the floorboards. I helped jumpstart a car for the first time in my life. I gave in to work anxiety and felt sullied and disappointed with myself because of it. I woke super early and listened to repeated radio stories about the sad plight of the NZ scallop in scallop season. Something about the fine layers of silt that get stirred up and bury the scallops as they settle. Also their numbers are dwindling, because apparently back in the day everyone just took a few months off and chanced their arms in the deep old sea to dredge them up with not a care in the world.
I have sat in a lot of rooms with a lot of people, nodding and sometimes scribbling, and now I am drinking restful tea with eyes that need toothpicks to stay open.
I have seen what just might be fate in full swing, and have seen someone attribute a favourable outcome to their prayers being answered. And I liked it, although I am not entirely convinced.
I have seen what it is like to be old and alone and bordering on incapacitated and – selfishly – for now – I am pleased that I am none of these things. Because at the end of the day I can’t not relate the situation back to myself (even though I am peripheral to it, at best, or more likely completely irrelevant but a small part of the so-called ripple effect), being, as I am, the very centre of my own universe.
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Tags: diary, distance, dying, every day
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katyink on flickr
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