Okay they're closed. My eyes I mean. I love writing with my eyes closed. The first time George saw me do it he got scared. You can type like that? I said, yep. And carry on a separate conversation.
It's relaxing to write with your eyes closed. At some point your fingers take over from your mind, and you're just along for the ride.
I've been seeing a lot of windows in my sleep these days, small panes of glass divided into little squares.
I don't know what that means.
The day I learned my dad died, me at six, I asked if I could go out to play, but I couldn't, my mom said, because we were in mourning. But having been removed from the dying process--yes I knew he was sick, but was never told how sick--having to rely only on my instinct to tell me just how sick he was, I learned at an early age that your instinct can fail you. It's hard to trust your instinct when your earliest memories are those of a big surprise that probably shouldn't have been a surprise at all.
Would it surprise you if I told you my eyes are still closed?
So, in removing me from the dying process, I really wasn't prepared to mourn. And then in a sense, the house full of dread leading up to my dad's death--I could feel that too...
My mother gave me a wonderful gift once. I was about 22 when I expressed to her how unsettled I felt about having never said goodbye to my father, how if I had known--if they had told me--I would have told him I loved him before I ran off to catch the school bus that day. And then, at six, maybe I wouldn't have. You know? Maybe it would have been a matter of course in my mind, having known no other course.
As I was feeling tragically guilty for not having known my father was as sick as he was--that somehow if I had known I would have behaved differently, my mother told me this: You were the only one who didn't look at him with eyes that knew he was sick. You were the only one he could be himself with. You were joy to him, you brought joy to him at a time when no one else could because you were a sweet, innocent, loving child.
I think that made me feel better.
For a while it did.
Eyes closed--opening to pos now.
