August 2008

367.

August 26, 2008

Since finishing my…confessional? Elegy? Ecrivatory deluge? (Well, not that last one, because according to Google the word “ecrivatory” doesn’t exist)—since finishing last week’s whatever-it-was, Ames is suddenly a real person to me in a way he wasn’t before, and when I think of him I am sad in a way I haven’t been before now. [...]

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Coda.

August 22, 2008

If you could see me this week, live and in person, you might be confused. Why, she looks fine! you might think, Look at her, chewing on that baby’s foot! See her giggling at the television! Shouldn’t she be gliding, wraithlike, through the halls at night, wailing and clutching a tiny shroud? Yes: I have [...]

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Part Three.

August 21, 2008

When Simone was in the hospital, my emotions were mostly practical ones, tied to her condition: fear and hope, often all twisted up together. But sometimes there was something else—I was angry. Often I didn’t realize it until I was on my way to see Simone, walking past a room with a big, healthy-looking baby [...]

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Part Two.

August 20, 2008

I have started several posts about Ames in the past month, but have finished none of them. Every night for the last week I have rearranged sentences in my head before falling asleep, trying to find some way to talk about him, and I am foiled again and again by how complicated it all seems, [...]

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Part One.

August 19, 2008

“Even the miniscule, erratic wireless signal at the window seems to have been extinguished, so heaven only knows when I will be able to post this.” That was the first sentence of the entry I was writing at 12:30 p.m. on February 7th. I remember noticing as I wrote that it felt remarkably like the [...]

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Prelude.

August 18, 2008

Imagine you are driving peacefully along, and the car in front of you loses control, skids wildly, hits the rail and flips over. Without thinking, you jerk your steering wheel to avoid the crash, and then swiftly, automatically, pull your car to the side of the road, dial for help and hear yourself talking in [...]

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Sandmandinista.

August 11, 2008

Simone is on strike. Unfortunately, she remains silent on the subject of demands, which is too bad because at this point, I am willing to give up anything, anything, if only she will reconsider her position on sleep. Which is that it is overrated. For both of us. I know one is not supposed to [...]

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