Innocence & eyeballs
.1. Had an unexpected and (as always) wonderful evening with Heidi last night, which no matter what the topic always found itself back to Heidi banging her fists down on the kitchen table and saying “I hate the patriarchy”, while smiling that devastating smile of hers.
.2. Unfortunately, the rest of my evening…well, more like from 2:00 a.m. until 10:00 a.m….took a turn for the worse. I have not had any sleep because of certain circumstances that were completely beyond my control and am physically exhausted. Although all is well now and everyone home and safe, I still can’t seem to sleep, not even by force, and so have decided to simply spend some time writing and searching for that silver cloud.
.3. See: Am delusional due to the exhaustion. I called it the silver cloud rather than the silver lining.
.4. And I found that silver ‘cloud’ (because it really is so much larger than mere lining) in my Yahoo! e-mail account only moments ago.
.5. My friend A is leaving for London, England and I am convinced that this is yet another sign for me to go back there again and visit; even if it is for a short weekend trip to hang out with Hannah. I envy that he is going and I must remember to keep my eyes peeled for tickets.
.6. Speaking of eyes, my eyes currently look as though someone took a tub of black Indian ink and poured it into my pupils. This morning I had my yearly eye exam and my Doctor dilated my pupils and now I can’t see because it’s too sunny. I am squinting and I am only allowed to work on the computer or read without my glasses on (for at least a few more hours, anyway).
.7. I want to share with you one of the multitude of brilliant passages from Jeanette Winterson’s The Passion. This is one of the two main characters speaking about war and women, it is the Frenchman named Henri:
When we came here, we came from our mothers and sweethearts. We were still used to our mothers with their work-hard arms that could clout the strongest of us and leave our ears ringing. And we courted our sweethearts in the country way. Slow, with the fields that ripen at harvest. Fierce, with the sows that rut the earth. Here, without women, with only our imaginations and a handful of whores, we can’t remember what it is about women that can turn a man through passion into something holy. Bible words again, but I am thinking of my father who shaded his eyes on those sunburnt evenings and learnt to take his time with my mother. I am thinking of my mother with her noisy heart and of all the women waiting in the fields for the men who drowned yesterday and all the mothers’ sons who have taken their place.
We never think of them here. We think of their bodies and now and then we talk about home but we don’t think of them as they are; the most solid, the best loved, the well known.
They go on. Whatever we do or undo, they go on.
-The Passion, Jeanette Winterson, p. 29.
.9. I have been searching for an inspired character to place into a book I started to write in August of last year, and I think that, perhaps, that character may be Tamer Hagras. Am still undecided, but when he comes to 2ukhtubni, we’ll mull it over casually and I’ll let him decide.
.10. I was at a stop light watching a child who couldn't have been older than four years old; she was holding on to her father's hand and hanging there, legs limp, arms limp, swaying and laughing but never falling, occasionally looking up at her father and laughing that laugh that only children have, the honest one that comes from deep inside their tummies. She believed that grip was the only thing in the world she needed to be happy and safe. I couldn't help but think how I wished I could do that now, today, at this age...but everyone knows that innocence is fleeting and mine ran away as soon as the light turned green.
.2. Unfortunately, the rest of my evening…well, more like from 2:00 a.m. until 10:00 a.m….took a turn for the worse. I have not had any sleep because of certain circumstances that were completely beyond my control and am physically exhausted. Although all is well now and everyone home and safe, I still can’t seem to sleep, not even by force, and so have decided to simply spend some time writing and searching for that silver cloud.
.3. See: Am delusional due to the exhaustion. I called it the silver cloud rather than the silver lining.
.4. And I found that silver ‘cloud’ (because it really is so much larger than mere lining) in my Yahoo! e-mail account only moments ago.
.5. My friend A is leaving for London, England and I am convinced that this is yet another sign for me to go back there again and visit; even if it is for a short weekend trip to hang out with Hannah. I envy that he is going and I must remember to keep my eyes peeled for tickets.
.6. Speaking of eyes, my eyes currently look as though someone took a tub of black Indian ink and poured it into my pupils. This morning I had my yearly eye exam and my Doctor dilated my pupils and now I can’t see because it’s too sunny. I am squinting and I am only allowed to work on the computer or read without my glasses on (for at least a few more hours, anyway).
.7. I want to share with you one of the multitude of brilliant passages from Jeanette Winterson’s The Passion. This is one of the two main characters speaking about war and women, it is the Frenchman named Henri:
When we came here, we came from our mothers and sweethearts. We were still used to our mothers with their work-hard arms that could clout the strongest of us and leave our ears ringing. And we courted our sweethearts in the country way. Slow, with the fields that ripen at harvest. Fierce, with the sows that rut the earth. Here, without women, with only our imaginations and a handful of whores, we can’t remember what it is about women that can turn a man through passion into something holy. Bible words again, but I am thinking of my father who shaded his eyes on those sunburnt evenings and learnt to take his time with my mother. I am thinking of my mother with her noisy heart and of all the women waiting in the fields for the men who drowned yesterday and all the mothers’ sons who have taken their place.
We never think of them here. We think of their bodies and now and then we talk about home but we don’t think of them as they are; the most solid, the best loved, the well known.
They go on. Whatever we do or undo, they go on.
-The Passion, Jeanette Winterson, p. 29.
.9. I have been searching for an inspired character to place into a book I started to write in August of last year, and I think that, perhaps, that character may be Tamer Hagras. Am still undecided, but when he comes to 2ukhtubni, we’ll mull it over casually and I’ll let him decide.
.10. I was at a stop light watching a child who couldn't have been older than four years old; she was holding on to her father's hand and hanging there, legs limp, arms limp, swaying and laughing but never falling, occasionally looking up at her father and laughing that laugh that only children have, the honest one that comes from deep inside their tummies. She believed that grip was the only thing in the world she needed to be happy and safe. I couldn't help but think how I wished I could do that now, today, at this age...but everyone knows that innocence is fleeting and mine ran away as soon as the light turned green.
posted by just a girl at 2:06 PM
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