February closes on me and I'm afraid that I'm not much farther than January. Lately I've been obsessed with figuring out this fascination with this being the year of the golden pig. As far as I can tell this idea that there is a year of the golden pig that comes around every 600 years is pure crap. Anyway, people are predicting that birth rates in Asia will jump 10 percent this year because people think it's a lucky year to have kids. Astrology ... weird.
Over dinner on Sunday the discussion turned to Autism. Someone mentioned that there was autistic person who was able to communicate perfectly normally via e-mail, however completely shut down in all face-to-face interactions. It made me wonder what the difference really is, between this form of communication, this form of relation, and that of the "real" world. Here I am trying to make believe someone's at the other end reading. Maybe there's someone out there who's trying to pretend there isn't anyone paying attention.
I'm a sixth of the way through this year and not much closer to finishing everything that needs to be done before I can close it out. In fact, I'm having problems enough closing out the promises I made last year. I'm constantly distracted, thinking about the problems I'll face in the future. So much so that I can seem to clear the hurdles of the past.
Yesterday I heard a report about how the Coast Guard is phasing out lighthouses. With GPS and other navigational aids becoming more prevalent, they simply aren't necessary. I understand this, but I've always had a soft spot for lighthouses. Perhaps because they are always built where it is most dangerous and beautiful, to ward off of Sirens as it were. Or perhaps because they harken back to another age; my favorite of the Seven Wonders was always the Pharos at Alexandria.
Alexandria. Famous for it's lighthouse and it's library. I have fond memories walking down the dewey decimal aisles of my public library. Running my fingers across all the spines and imagining that I could absorb them all simply by osmosis. Printed text is quickly going the way of lighthouses. Though I am far removed from my childhood, something in me lingers there. But quickly, it seems, all the places for those ghosts to reside are being decommissioned. When they are all gone so to will their mysteries be forgotten, leaving behind only warnings and information.
Sometimes I think it would be neat to build a house that was scaled 20 percent bigger. Doorways just so much wider, the counter tops just tall enough that you had to pull yourself up on to them, all the furniture just that much larger -- all to remind me what it was like to be a kid again. To sit on stairs that were nearly big enough to lie down on. To be able to hide in the coffee table cabinets. To have a banister sturdy enough to hold the weight of all these extra years.
It's been three weeks since my last post. Three weeks since the funeral. I'm not sure those things are related, but I think everything is. Life seems to be passing me by these days, but I know that time keeps a steady beat and it's just me that's slowing down. It's not lack of energy, it's inertia. Rotational inertia.
There's a feeling of vertigo in my head. I'm spinning and spinning, but I'm not going anywhere. A million things catch my eye, but nothing seems to hold. I feel like I need to latch on to a pole and steady myself before I go any farther.
Three weeks of writing that's stuck in my head, now faded whispers of what I might have said. A poem about the period after death, some words about love, a thought or two about what's been happening in the world lately, I don't know anymore, it's fleeting ... and now it's gone.
It'll be spring soon. I haven't seen any snow this season and I don't know if I will. I haven't ventured out into my garden yet, and I'm a little scared of what I might find. Half a dozen things are unfinished in the house right now, and I always aim to finish them, but I'm so easily distracted. There's really no point to all of this, a few thoughts scattered here and there, just stretching my fingers, looking around, bleary-eyed as if I'd just woken up from a long nap.