an image diary

"And if he left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you'd be? ... You'd be nowhere. Why, you're only a sort of thing in his dream! If that there King was to wake you'd go out -- bang! -- just like a candle!"

"Hush! You'll be waking him, I'm afraid, if you make so much noise."

"Well it's no use your talking about waking him when you're only one of the things in his dream. You know very well you're not real."

Friday, December 3, 2004

Certain inconveniences

come with coming home; the refrigerator and pantry shelves will be empty but for milk, tortillas, cereal, and coffee, and I will take to living on milky coffee all day the first day home while I clear a workspace and make just enough room at Trystan's desk (among a Spiderman slipper, Uno cards, It's a Big Big World atlas, and a drum I gave him four years ago at Christmas) to write: I slept on a twin last night in a room painted purple and discover first thing in the morning that foolproof babyproofing (half-inch dowel sticks run through chest-of-drawer and cabinet handles) is very hard on bare toes: I broke a jar of powdered ice tea in the garage while reaching for a bottle of something else and know this as a consequence of the conditions of coming home: I will stub my toes, step on toys, make room to sit: I will still be mystified about the lack of food in a household that eats three times a day and more on the weekend: I will pay my fullest attention to questions I cannot answer (and thus it is that the age of five is the wisdom of showing one's elders the fall into unknowing): why? and why? and why why? and why? I don't know, I say. The little mesquite tree outside this window has at last become a tree. And the sun, baby, lemme tell you. This is the land of the sun.

I'm in a t-shirt and shorts.

The family outgrows this house; today is moving day. I want more coffee but am reluctant to find everything necessary to make it. Could take longer than a few minutes. Tea is impossible. The stove is apart for cleaning. I think of cleaning. But I have reading and thinking to do. I promised myself reading and writing and long walks in the sun.

"and what is the use of a book...without pictures or conversations?"

[contact me:]

what o'clock it is


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