My thing comes out tomorrow. You know, my thing, my thingie, my thing! Fame at last! Just kidding. Well, not kidding about the thing, but you know.
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My fugue has taken a weird turn today. All month I have felt disconnected from myself, unattractive, cautious with every thing. I have snapped at friends who inquire too pointedly, or with too much entitlement. Self-protectiveness has been an ugly trend in myself this year, and this particular season, I've felt truly paralyzed by it. I was never like this.
But today, of all days, when it's pouring and grey, I feel absolutely on fire, utterly consumed with warmth and wanting.
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I had one of those weird, portentous dreams last night. I was in kind of a shit raft with a friend, and we were trying to paddle it upstream these rapids for some reason. (A reason I had not really condoned--we were arguing, and I was being quite frank about a lot of things.) Still, the water shooting underneath us was strange, beautiful, and clear, and we could see all the fish moving around. Something odd and magic about it.
I dream about boats a lot these days, ever since Travis and I took the canoe up the Little Otter to get to Falling Creek at Isaac's farm this summer. We were moving a lot of stuff up a long ways--many more miles than we'd realized--and it was hard, visceral work: getting out of the canoe and dragging it over deep pits, submerged logs, and snags, walking it through flat areas, scrambling over rocks larger than my car to haul the gear over rapids and line the boat down safe. It was utterly exhausting: seven miles longer than expected, but one of those experiences that gets into you, like when you spend all day in the surf and then close your eyes to see waves.
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