(First, see the previous blog entry about Rilke.)
I've spent the past 3 days with him now, for the most part my TV off, doing little but lying in bed, reading Rilke and watching the patterns of light on my walls.
I've been so utterly stressed-filled for the past 6 months, the 12-hour days, coming home only to drink and get on the computer for some relief of the tension, a brief window-of-opportunity to re-claim myself, my own personality, in light of my long daylight-hours spent being polite and turning 75% of my brain off... And simultaneously during this same 6 months, trying to connect with someone from my past, but being unable to because I was now always rather obnoxiously "on"... ("I'm not that same kid from 23 years ago" was what I was basically, constantly trying to prove. I never could relax and just say, for instance, as I should have way back at Christmas: "I'll bet your new dress is pretty...I'd love to see it.") And then my best-friend-cat Gracie getting sick with cancer in January, having to watch her die for 3 months...
Here's what I wrote today, after Sandra and Gracie, and finally having days to lie in my bed and read Rilke and think about the past 6 months, and finally feeling some sense of peace, finally able to attempt to get over the horror at what exactly I've lost:
I'd imagined me trapped
in your game-world forever.
My real-life cat
dragging herself from corner to
corner, while your glass-enclosed "No"
echoed over phone and 'Net,
pinballing off my walls.
I could not flip it back.
Still it wracked up its score, bouncing
off both wacky bells and my girl's
Now through my screen
the smells of the sun and grass and asphalt
rise to a new season. It's May.
On my wall
the light and leaves shy lashes
leaving, alighting again
flirting with my cat's ashes.
In her place I soak up the shimmering sun.
I stroke my hair and arch my back
and let my eyes go green.
In shadows glancing off you, and me, and