Suspension of the Self
December 21, 2011 § 20 Comments
There is a photograph at my mother’s house of Long Shot. I have been here since Monday and haven’t bothered to look at it. Haven’t really been thinking about any of that stuff. Whenever I am here, the mind empties in peculiar ways and I feel as if I am a suspension of myself, or perhaps it is simply that I regress to the miserable teenager I was. Certainly, I slept till past eleven this morning. Shameful. I am up every day at 6.15 normally, but I haven’t been feeling too good for a couple of days. All that burning of candles at both ends, probably. Serves me right. I am now slumped with my children and eating too much already and watching television. A belting headache, so this doesn’t promise to be one of my more eloquent posts.
Emails and texts have ceased almost entirely, except for the daily entreaties from Amazon to spend even more money. Barely a telephone call, let alone from a twinkle. There is none. Three days of almost complete silence. There are a few more final parties – tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow – before Christmas, and then that’s it. Retreat and hibernation.
Might as well stockpile tappen (favourite word; look it up) right now.