Coffee: Maxwell House Master Blend, Office Coffee
Talked to a woman recovering from a cult life. Her husband’s still in it, but she left when he beat the kids. They took her money, asked for her financials, talked to her about salvation. Before all this, she’d lived in four different states teaching in each of them, and had six years overseas growing up in a military family. A full life. Unforgettable. Now she lives on 3 acres in the country and counts the birds, the rats, the deer, the stars, the snakes.
I’m back to telling other peoples’ stories after two days away. I didn’t go anywhere, not really, not a trip, nowhere new to stick my body, but I still left, in spirit, because I didn’t have room between me and the world to talk about it, we were dancing too close. I’ve turned thirty. I had a belated second celebration. Friends came up and we got sick at a silver-walled diner. At home, I got sick on one Guinness. The next day, I was hazed over, and the sky was all sundown from the morning, and it was a kind of quiet lonely beautiful I hadn’t felt in a while.
But anyway, now I’m back.
Currently Reading: Giovanni’s Room, James Baldwin
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If you lose your ego, you lose the thread of that narrative you call your Self. Humans, however, can’t live very long without some sense of a continuing story. Such stories go beyond the limited rational system (or the systematic rationality) with which you surround yourself; they are crucial keys to sharing time-experience with others.Haruki Murakami, Underground: The Tokyo Gas Attack and The Japanese Psyche