She’s harsh and angular and so very guilty. She thinks I’m frivolous, a fool, adorably naive. Or maybe just naive. She is coming into sharper focus, and I do mean sharper. I don’t know much more about her than what I’ve said here, but I am waking up in the middle of the night thinking about her. It has begun.
That was the diagnosis last night, from Sue Goyette. You’re ankle deep in it, she said. Before you know it, you’ll be swimming.
Honestly, I’m not sure I’m totally ready to swim again, but hey, if the water’s rising, what choice do you have?
I have yet to make actual sentences. But all I think about now is Becks, and guilt, and religion, and the body, and my gosh, there’s a book there, soon to swamp my kayak. I have started staring out the window. Always a harbinger of sentences to come. I have even made a plan, a little schedule. A work-back.
Next weekend, The Common has a mini-retreat in Hubbards. Becks and I will get to know each other a little better there, I am sure. It’s possible her name is actually spelled Bex. I’ll find out and report back.