Your jolly Pola-kins is not having a good Sunday. (I always write a week behind Real Life.) I seem to spend most of the summers of my life inside, trying to avoid sunburn and working like blazes just to get my life to start.
My life is the equivalent of a jalopy that started out as a perfectly good car, but now seems to constantly need re-starting, with each of those restarts being less satisfying or effective than the last. All the while I am running out of years/road to be this much of a non-achiever… in asset terms. You know when you begin to disappoint yourself that things are about to get bleak. The shame of it though… is so slowly crippling, it hurts how brittle your insides feel.
When things get particularly difficult, I think about all the food there still is left to eat and all the books there are still left to read. They stretch out into a beautiful sea, for me to swim in, and if necessary drown like a little speck, because I will never conquer them all. There’s some kind of semi-quiescent relief in that, for a while. Then I think how that isn’t even an option for a vampire – and recall my friend who said:
“Never stop writing vampires, you make them so raw and intelligent. I don’t even like them but I’d read yours.”
She pretty much thinks I am engineering a conspiracy of hiding in plain sight: because I have cold hands and subsist, (subversively) on tea and sunlight, have a very keen sense of smell and apparently act as an advocate for the representation of the similarly condemned (in literature) in a much more articulate way. Her ingenuity and affection amuses me. She also says Twilight helped the cause. I disagree. Scathingly.
One does not think of love or tenderness. People. Bleh.
I’m going to say something deeply unfashionable in the 21st Century which most people will see probably see as a sad and desperate cop-out, but believe me, I’ve lived most of my life with armour on and sword in hand. I’m tired of fighting and I need a sidekick. In so far as that goes on par, I think I need rescuing.
But I don’t know if I can let myself be. How much judgement would I face for that kind of honesty?
Today is just one of those days where I need posh tea, and over-sympathise with the existential eloquence of Frankenstein’s monster… Poor thing.
~ Pola ~