The weight

I venture out for breakfast with only a T-shirt this morning. I sit by the window of Joe's Diner looking out over the small patio, still empty at this early hour. The cafe and sidewalks themselves are still empty although it is 9:30. The gorgeous morning sunshine lights up the new leaves on the trees that line Davie St as they stir in the breeze. I sit transfixed by their gentle motion.

Although the day is light and airy there is a heaviness in my heart again. Summer is coming on and it seems like an empty slate, as though there is nothing to look forward to. It has been 6 weeks since Michal promised to set the dates of our trip to Utah, which we had planned to do in just under two weeks from now. I've given up on that trip, as well as our friendship by this point. Danzante offered to bring me down to Portland to stay with his friends next weekend, the long weekend, but now he has 9 days off, which I do not, and wants to do many things like camping which I am no longer capable of doing. He badly needs the escape and rest so I suggested he go without me. It was the only sensible choice.

I feel my heart sinking as I look out at the sunshine. It shouldn't be this way. Joy should come more easily, but at the same time I am kicking myself for getting excited about Utah. Nothing brings the joy in like having something wonderful to look forward to, but looking forward to anything just leads to disappointment, like counting on friends does. After a bit, joy itself seems to foreshadow a loss.

I look across to the shops on the far side of Davie. The Marquis Wine Store is having a special on Spanish wines. The word SPAIN is written across the red and gold flag of Spain in the window. It is partially hidden by a column at the entrance to the patio; all I see is "...PAIN". A couple doors up the street I see the burgundy front of the bar "Numbers", partially hidden by the building next door. All I see is the word "NUMB..." Life has a delicious way of mocking our suffering: my smile returns.

After a little shopping I return home. Marcel, my Brazilian couch surfer is finally up, though still in his pajamas. He is attacking my keyboard with a fervour as he does for hours each day now, connecting with friends on Facebook or arranging a hookup with some stranger for later in the day. I retreat into the sanctuary of my room to read the end of my novel, waiting for him to get dressed and leave.

"Hope only to rise above hope." - Toaist saying

from "Last of the Wine" by Mary Renault:
"His body had not stiffened yet, but his skin was growing cold. He lay already as one of the unnumbered dead. Always, from my first remembrance, whether he rode, or walked, or ran, or stood talking in the street, as far as I could see him I knew him apart from all other men; nor was it possible, in the darkest night, to mistake another's hand for his. Now the flies were beginning to come and I had to drive them away."