Discombobulated
  
December 16, 2023 - Coming at it slant

lifewriting

In about fifteen minutes we’re heading into town to go see The Boy and the Heron, which we are all pretty excited about. Then after that to a yakitori bar for an end of year huzzah.

Been spending the last half hour poking through all of my Trash Planet files. They are at least all in Scrivener now, but they go in all sorts of directions, like little blobs of story that will somehow come together at some point. I am poking and prodding them a little bit but I feel that if I try to smoosh them together too soon everything will feel terrible. I’ve got close to 50,000 words of all the attempts I’ve made on this over the past few years… something tells me I am so close that I just can’t give up now.

Saturdays are so weird — the days where you don’t have to be anywhere or do anything, they float away on me. I slept in a bit (just before eight I guess?) and drank coffee and patted cats and then got up and made more coffee and played piano for an hour or so, then did Duolingo, answered texts, looked at the chrysalises, put plants out in the rain. Suddenly it’s 1:20pm.

Going to see my sister in the hospital yesterday was intense. The rooms are hot and airless. My sister has tubes coming out everywhere, things going and coming. She looks exhausted in the bed, post-chemo, post-masectomy. Very white. Her colour seemed to improve a bit as we talked, she could laugh a little. She is extremely mentally resilient. The doctor came in and spoke about the second surgery that she’d had earlier that day. Apparently it all went well. The nurses were kind and funny. One brought Leila a banana milk when she looked like she was feeling a bit off.

Being in a hospital makes you appreciate fresh air, walking around, rain on your head, all your parts moving as they should. It makes you appreciate your family and your life. Makes you think about humans as highly intelligent flesh that propels itself around a small planet. Makes you think about how weird it is that this perambulatory flesh developed culture and languages and industry. The way the flesh dreams, looks at stars, imagines things, makes music.

It makes you think–