Partial de-freezing
A partial de-freezing is everything my mother has taught me not to do. Armed with a knife one nervously attacks the ice, making sure one doesn’t hurt oneself too bad. One will stop when the freezer’s door fits right back in place when closed.
So T has left, it’s been two days. I haven’t cried (too much), and definitely not in public. But it happens at the movies when I think it really should not be the case. Like Billy Eliot. But I make it a rule not too cry like a girlie. So I rush to the bathroom, where I cry like the bearded girlie I am.
I am dreaming episodes of a sitcom. Every new episode takes you to the next floor, where they are installing yet another computer facility in lobby. You see, the hotel is new and not yet done. The manager is played by this actress, very defensive, whatever you might want when you approach her it’s always cause for some sort of hysterical excuse that doesn’t have to do with what you’re saying.
Also my Sony is dying. The condolence book is open.
