Episode 28 – Whose Face is it Anyway?

Well I’m still here. Did you think I had gone somewhere nice?

I’m sitting in the waiting room at Pieta having just been fed pasta and meatballs by Posh. Now I feel sick. Not because of her cooking which is excellent, like her mother’s, but because there’s some sort of build up in here, in my pit, and it’s churning away mechanically like a drilling device in a coal mine.

Since Thursday afternoon I’ve been great, like active and and semi productive and not as mopey. I’ve avoided stress and thereby managed not to fly off the unstable handle and everyone’s had a much needed weekend spa break from Dotty. I want this to be the permanent me: the replastered wall. An extra supporting pillar or foundation layer would be necessary of course, but it’d be nice to not have to rely on a coat of paint to conceal the unsettling cracks.

I wish I didn’t have to go in. I wish I didn’t have to burst the illusionary four day bubble. I wish I could live outside my head and not have to talk about the sinkhole in my belly. I wish I could continue to ride this demi high indefinitely. But sure fuck it, I’m here now. And the scented candles are lovely. And I might as well wait out the traffic.

I love this painting – Edward Hopper. What is she thinking? Is she happy? Has she run away? Is she waiting for him to walk in the door and save her or has he followed her there to drag her home? The ambiguity on her face – is it a mask or is it her? The suitcase: what’s in it? Lingerie or a pistol? An evening gown or a noose? Or both? Is it her car, or his, or theirs? Have THEY come for her? That’s the thing about faces. You never really know who it belongs to.

It’s now ten to ten. I had planned to finish this as a proper post but I’m too tired. And scared. Scared to write because I feel exhausted and my session at Pieta brought horrible words into my mouth. But also because good things have happened today (and over the weekend) and I want to let the beauty and wonder and warmth of them steep overnight: clutching onto the lost little cells inside me.

I am grateful for friends new and old. For family far and near. For the dogs who were home alone all day and didn’t poop (much…).

Four good days is impressive. And it’s nice being able to pay your bills.

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