#184
Maybe the last cold day. That’s what I say, but I’m barely a local yet, and what do I know? My hands are cold and last night I put the wool sweater on the dog who seems to like it because it holds him in a way. He was attacked at the dog run yesterday afternoon, and while unharmed, moments like that leave him scattered, shattered, tired. Much like me on any given day, when after walking the dog and getting a cup of coffee I feel scattered and shattered in ways that are hard to describe but that are apparent to me and maybe only me, or perhaps the dog understands it too because he is overly generous with his affection which he normally holds dear, or, relegates to when he wakes from sleeping in the early hours, climbing into my bed with me and laying as close as he can to gather up the lingering morning warmth.
We skip a few streets now, because of dog encounters that were less than ideal. I have to slowly get him used to walking those paths again, but he is persistent and pulls me to the river trail, which runs for miles in both directions, long enough for me to walk off whatever is on my mind, which is normally too many things for the amount of energy we both have. Lately, it’s been like having a tv with unlimited channels but not having control of the remote. Scattered, I’ve been using that word a lot here, but it sticks, it feels correct.
Later, I should swim, but will I feel like it is another question. I’ve felt lonely these days, less of a person and more of a shadow. Cliques are hard to accept at this point in life, but I realize it’s like that in most places, just more apparent in smaller cities. Without children, I feel my clique is the dog owners, some of which have children, but there is a large absence of them at the dog run, I realize.
H tells me to keep my head up, but I don’t like that advice. I sit this morning in the cold office and look at the sun outside the window and pull the hood up on my cashmere sweater and think about what’s happened to me these past days, not feeling totally like myself, not feeling totally like anything, as I said, but a shadow, or a murmur of a person, a shell, not cracked, but there is a protective cover that has formed. I feel fragile though, and maybe it has sustained some impact.
If I were to say what it is that I wanted to do, it is to leave and go to the seaside, so perhaps that is what I should be planning instead of thinking about how I can find a tennis group here, or, where the best cup of coffee is in town (note: they are all more or less the same, nothing special, but also not bad for the price).
Now, work calls but I have little patience for it and would prefer to continue to ponder life and question this and that and perhaps go swim in the pool that looks out at the mountains and wonder if whatever this is — if this is it?
