Foggy, tired and sad today.
Relatively happy yesterday followed shortly by a tragic shipwreck of a night. Really pretty full-on wipe-out ugly. I can’t really even grasp it, let alone parse it or understand it. Just a cotton-fuzzy dull-grey hangover of an afternoon now. Not even sure I should be writing.
Strange perspective sitting in my little corner box, suspended in midair between slabs of concrete and walls of glass. Really not a natural view of the world, and the feeling of abstracted artifice is palpable. Staring at the arbitrary geometry of rooftops and spaces untouched except by the elements. Air vents, security lights, railings, fume vents and ladders, rain spouts and cryogen tanks. The eerie gestalt complemented by the ghost-town emptiness of a campus without students. Vacant walkways, quiet halls, and closed offices.
Haunted by the image of Laz, clearly troubled by the argument between his parents, clinging to me as I try to leave the room. Reflected in his face a distant half-memory of my own desperate moment holding on to a departing parent. There are things there in my past, half-remembered and only partly understood. Not that I need or want to. The meanings and what-ifs are irrelevant. The memory of fear and desperation is not.
Wave of sleepiness now.
Relatively happy yesterday followed shortly by a tragic shipwreck of a night. Really pretty full-on wipe-out ugly. I can’t really even grasp it, let alone parse it or understand it. Just a cotton-fuzzy dull-grey hangover of an afternoon now. Not even sure I should be writing.
Strange perspective sitting in my little corner box, suspended in midair between slabs of concrete and walls of glass. Really not a natural view of the world, and the feeling of abstracted artifice is palpable. Staring at the arbitrary geometry of rooftops and spaces untouched except by the elements. Air vents, security lights, railings, fume vents and ladders, rain spouts and cryogen tanks. The eerie gestalt complemented by the ghost-town emptiness of a campus without students. Vacant walkways, quiet halls, and closed offices.
Haunted by the image of Laz, clearly troubled by the argument between his parents, clinging to me as I try to leave the room. Reflected in his face a distant half-memory of my own desperate moment holding on to a departing parent. There are things there in my past, half-remembered and only partly understood. Not that I need or want to. The meanings and what-ifs are irrelevant. The memory of fear and desperation is not.
Wave of sleepiness now.
