As you may know, I am most active during this season. Don’t get me wrong; it’s mandatory always to work hard. As for me, the level of motivation is highest when the sun is shining, and the temperatures are low, the smell of wet leaves sticking underneath my trainers.
Smile through melancholy and the end of something that seemed precious and probably is. It’s just sad thinking about it, particularly the idea of not knowing and partly that it’s not up to me to handle it. It makes me very sad.
That’s more of a reason to let go, you say, but how if guilty conscience has already cast a heavy shadow on my back?
An ongoing scene appears most apparent to me when I immerse myself in a solitary activity. What scene I mean will remain a secret for now until I have completely figured it out.
I dreamed I was making love with Adso of Melk, and when he came, he burst into tears of guilt. Since guilt is slightly contagious, I felt a little bit responsible for his tears. I told him something to make him feel better, but I woke up shortly after. Whatever I said, I don’t think it would have made any difference.
I’m a good-for-nothing in terms of not being able to access people the way I want to. The minute I believe I can crack his shell, I back off. I end up just stroking the skin. And I hate myself for it because it leaves me weak.
Or maybe I wasn’t anywhere close to cracking his shell, but I’d like to think I was.
I guess this is why I’m no longer interested in emotional play, and I try to focus on the physical instead.
At the story reading event the other day, one of the judges said that there were so much descriptive energy and power of the physical in my writing. Of course, Ellen is a surgeon; what else would interest her?
That’s why I’ll be at the Museum of London tonight – at the Dissection, Doctors and Resurrection Man exhibition.
Touching skin.
