it really is not. it is not everyday that the phone rings and it is one of my friends around the corner that erroneously rang me; god only knows after what. it was morning and i was still in bed half asleep after a very late turning in last night at three this morning.
he rings, this friend of mine, and he is apologetic about his blunder, i sounded sleepy. i thanked him for the keys to his apartment that i had picked up last night before going to see a flick at a good old movie theatre in town with a retired and somewhat lonely colleague. i thanked him, the one on the phone this morning, and remarked the fact that the keys were pink after all. yesterday he had asked me what colour i wanted the keys, red or blue? i said pink. in fact they are more like fuchsia or magenta, however this bit of naming colours is not exactly my strength, and metal coloured keys is a very local thing that keeps some of the folks sorted in terms of what key goes into which hole. so, barely awake, and with a set of keys to his apartment in a ridiculous colour, i shared with him my excitement, and told him that i had had an orgasm right there and then when i got his keys last night. we laughed, we often laugh.
this one friend of mine, like another one at the same address, are both jurists and as close as i get to having two brothers around the corner from me. we hold each other's hands through thick and thin, to say nothing of a few fun and animated social occasions or bits and pieces of our lives. we have helped each other move apartments on more than one occasion, we have stood ready with moral support and prepared meals through exams and dissertations, and when we need a good shoulder to cry, we know where to go. we also have no difficulty what so ever in making bad jokes while half-awake.
it is not every day that i am home. but how am i?
i am thinking a lot more than i had expected that i would about my dear - not better half, not worse half, not half at all - with whom i spent last weekend. he is an angel, he is a muse, and he gets to me every now and then. in the last two decades i have fallen in love with him several times. i neither believe in this thing of falling in love, nor do i like it whenever it happens to me in spite of my own lack of belief and my insistence that each time that i do, it is with the world and with life that i fall in love, not with someone in particular. in between my falling in love with him, and with the world, my fancy trails other chimeras and fantasies, yet we return faithfully to the eternity of our dreams and the lightness that our shared times indulges us with. sometimes it is this lightness and ease that i suspect has had me so confused, if not apprehensive and confronted. but is it an indulgence?
life goes on, or so it pretends. i have been feeling very light and i need to return to my silence, and my monastic life. therapy has been good, really good. it is not every day, like today, that i make waffles and end up not managing to get one single one out of the waffle iron in one piece. all three waffles disintegrated in small pieces all over the iron... i forgot some ingredient and i do not recall which one. i make buckwheat waffles from my own recipe that i have forgotten to write down. this is my life, a recipe that i have forgotten to write down. sometimes it works, sometimes, it doesn't.
