|
Newest This site and its contents, unless otherwise noted,
|
2004-08-11 // 12:53 a.m. an e-mail I just wrote to Gib and E... Hello wonderful persons - I hit "reply all" and so am following Gib's lead in writing to you both. I have no intentional copy-cat tendencies, Gib, but I like the idea of sharing one's day with two good, supportive friends. It is Monday night, nearly 11 pm. A few note-worthy events took place today. Though my sleep remained full of elusive dreams, I woke with a peaceful quiet I haven't felt in quite a while. For me, this is truly significant, given the fact that, yesterday, I woke to a wet pillow and fresh tears on my cheeks. Tears of sadness, disconnectedness and self-loathing. The tears spoke of a question I couldn't put words to. I still can't. This morning, the sun filtered through my window and created shapes on my bed. I felt them before I saw them because, for a brief moment, my body felt so pure that I couldn't fathom disrupting it by opening my eyes. I stretched and smiled as I realized that my little stuffed monkey was nuzzled into my chest. Upon opening my eyes, I took in the odd morning - a large, paper-thin sheet of cloud screened the sun as though, today, the earth only deserved a portion of heaven. I followed an intuitive urge to turn on my cell. Less than a minute later, Gib, you called. Among other parts of the conversation, I expressed to you my recent feeling of being out of touch with life in general. To put it simply, I miss myself. By now you know me pretty well, Gib, and E, you've known me from what feels like the beginning of time. Those summer nights walking the campus bare-foot, relishing in each baby-soft leaf of a tree, lying on the sidewalk and hugging the stars, watching the universe open like a camera lens, each layer eternal, distant and close - these memories, that life, seem miles and inches away. They seem so close that I might just miss them entirely. It's quite hard to explain. I digress. At work today, I did what has become the usual: a motor route and nine paper routes, only to be hit at 7pm with another down route that will now be added to my plate for the rest of the week. One might think I was starving for action if they took a look at my schedule! Quite the contrary, there are but two things I am starving for: spirit and sleep. Ken (my motor route driver who currently has no vehicle) is the most soft-spoken person I have ever encountered. I commonly have to ask him to repeat himself three times before I catch half of what he's saying. This proved interesting the first few times I drove him around on his route, a route that I had not yet done. Gesturing, we discovered, is far more successful. In fact, he's quite animated when he's non-verbal. So, we've become silent side-kicks of sorts. We've got the day's work down to a science; pop a tube here, toss a paper there, you-grab-this-one-while-I-grab-that-one-so-we-can-save-time sort of cooperation. And the true beauty of it: we don't speak. At all. Any speaking that was at first necessary has now been reduced to rote memory. There's something extraordinary about working hard, along-side another human being, in utter silence. Today, I began to appreciate this, to simply enjoy the presence of another soul traveling with me through my day. He could be anyone, and he just so happens to be a crooked-toothed, brillowey-haired, rather smelly guy of such dedication and lack of common sense that he would attempt to save his job by delivering hundreds of newspapers on a bicycle. Something happened today. Within our dense work load, there was the tiniest crack. And through that crack, magic seeped in. The gushing air through two open car windows tickled my skin and I no longer cared that it blew apart some of the newspapers. I felt a heat in my lower abdomen that kept me going when I would have otherwise drooped in exhaustion and sweat. In some crazy, perfect way, I experienced a sense of nirvana delivering 600 newspapers with a man named Ken. Do I hope for a repeat performance tomorrow? I don't dare. But I can say something about today. Despite all I've been feeling - or perhaps because of it - I felt myself returning today. Just a little bit. But enough for me to notice. Just enough. I love you both, - K -
|