sayonara, summer

13Jan10

That end-of-summer-holiday crash landing. Skin still peeling in the shower. Halfway between life as it is and as it might be, if you let it. If you surrendered yourself to indefinite itinerancy. 

The resolutions I never made drifting like spores, or motes – whatever you call them (is it that spores are living, life-producing, and motes are just dust? I have no idea…). Maybe I will catch them; maybe I won’t.

On odd years I don’t make resolutions. On even years I do. I do like a bit of symmetry wherever I can find it, though. So even years sit better with me. So do tops that don’t have elaborate or wonky shoulders – strappy on one side and bare on the other, for example.

I think it might be Frankie’s fault, but all that’s going through my head right now is I know it’s over. It being summer, in this instance.

When I was away my conservatively coloured succulent produced giant pink tentacles. A few things shrivelled. Someone put a camel in my laundry hamper and a carved Tongan totem on my bedside table. The mail had formed a manila-and-white mound on the kitchen table. All the windowed envelopes for me. All the bulging, promising stuff for Simon.

Sylvie helped me take down the Christmas tree. Mostly she batted baubles across the wooden floor and clawed a hole in the bag so that now all the decorations fall out.

It is cold now. Maybe not for long. We’ll have the electric fans on in the office in no time, no doubt. We’ll be sweltering and stuck, sweating in closed meeting rooms with dewy faces, and the air conditioning will either be broken or inadequate. 

Tonight I will sleep with blankets on me. With an alarm clock that I’ll ignore for as long as I possibly can. With the blind down to keep the dark in.

I will tick things off my to do list, in my grossly overpriced diary, because it’s one thing I can do to feel like 2010 is progressing in the most advantageous way possible, and that I’m getting ahead. But because I haven’t made NY’s resolutions or constructed a game plan I don’t really know what getting ahead is supposed to look like. Maybe I will recognise it when it happens, or hanker after its vague, unspecified outline if it doesn’t. At any rate, in any eventuality, it feels good crossing things off, even if they’re only things like paint nails or deposit cheque. It all adds up.

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