something has happened, and i’m not going to talk about it till i’ve fully digested it. suffice to say i feel nauseous; already feel my defence mechanisms moving around me, sliding into place, born into momentum when i read a note this morning.
last nite, me and la rave sat up late, each perched on an opposite kitchen counter, talking about the fucking psychic minefield this last month laid out for us – the move and its mortal cost, other smaller, needling things that prickled and jabbed any time there was a hope of comfort or relief, endless mental stress exploding along the sinew of everyday actions, emotional reserves drained down to bedrock, lists of to-dos, obligations and duties, never quite on top, never quite together. i feel so fucking fatigued right now, zoned out, but i’m not even halfway home free. future projects mass.
as always all i can do, as ever when this happens, is bury myself in work. so sunday, awakening to find myself deflated again, let all that stuff i put behind my eyes facing forward bounce around in the back and wrote a short story. it is called ‘too close to see the exit’, and you’ll find a representative sample below.
they stopped us reading at work, so when i’m not talking to miss kanada or zowie or fin, i’m writing four microstories, or more – it’s difficult to be certain – this mashed-up collection that clash and overlap. is currently called ‘extricate’. or ‘the all-or-nothing girl’. or ‘the unseeing eye’. or something else. maybe all of the above. fundamentally, it’s just an obsessive tic, a scribble. i don’t know if will resolve into anything, and amen to that.