I took a day off from writing today – a rarity. A day off from my life, my routines. Went for a walk in the sun, wrote a letter to a friend I haven’t seen for a couple of years who’s having hard times, posted it, then caught up randomly with some people having post-work drinks.
And damn if I don’t feel out of place. Or, at least, have no idea why I’m there. Sit and watch. Sit and watch.
Nothing to say and unable to leave. So fucking detached. I’ve been out here a long time, and I don’t know if I know the way back. What do people say? I mean, they get drunk to say anything, of course, and I wasn’t drinking. I can be funny, part of me remembers how, but it feels so false, and it’s been so long, I’m not sure I remember the rules. This goddamn gulf between people. We sit and skirt the edges, so far apart, keep it safe and meaningless, when really we need to be running at each other, yelling our truths, as our only hope of finally meeting.
This beautiful city is changing. Rubble everywhere. I want to scream and shake it off, a second skin grown too small. But that’s not altogether true – it’s a symptom, not a cause. It’s myself I’ve outgrown. And when I take that away, as soon I will, who is left?
Hours later now, picked myself up and headed to a party, not anywhere on the map, expecting nothing. Walk in, know no one, a younger crowd. Greet the hostess, then she’s away. Suddenly everyone’s dancing, espy a half familiar face on the floor. End up talking, a girl met once before who I could have given my heart to, a ghostly regret. Reconnect into the groove, instant open communication, a real person here. Her girlfriend takes the first opportunity to introduce herself as such, natch, so it goes. Then another once met face appears, friendly energy and open talk. Soon we’re drumming and dancing the night away. The hours pass, who can say how long?, there is only now. The neighbours complain and we pack down, seek to meet again. And I feel fine.
And, of course, on my day off, here I am writing. Problem and solution in one.