Sunday, December 3, 2000

 

1:24 a.m. There's no such thing as empty, you know. There's no such thing as lazy or worthless or useless -- there's just varying definitions of work and value and utility.

So, even though I did manage to get out for an hour or two and feel the sun on my face, I didn't manage to get the photos out of the camera. Worse, I only took two pictures, both of unimportant signs hung on walls -- static images because I was feeling too timid (lazy, slow, off-balance, out-of-practice) to try to capture anything that moved.

It was a short jaunt to one of the best bookstores in the whole world. It's a store that's been in the same location on the beach for over 20 years and it's overflowing with thousands of books I want and need. I always feel inadequate when I'm there: not rich enough to buy everything I must, not smart enough to know everything I should, not young enough to have time to read everything I want.

Today I left with an odd book about Venice and the first book in a trilogy about people who never sleep. I read right through my normal nap time, feeling a little guilty, naturally, about the need for sleep. Then I felt guilty because the light was gone for the day and I didn't have much to show for it. Guilty, but too tired to do anything about it.

You know, if we would all agree to move Christmas to the *other* side of December 21st, to the side when the days start to lengthen again, we might not feel so overwhelmed. Just a thought.

Anyway ... back to the speedy gulp of the day. Moments spent gulping down the Sunday Times. Gulping great quantities of that trial on C-SPAN. Was there a sandwich, the last gulp of orange juice? Then, a moment of trying to vacuum when the trial went to commercials, and then the walk, and then the nap ... and that was it. The day. Gone in a gulp.

Emptied of time and light and accomplishment. But, on the other hand -- full of guilt and slipped momentum and half-eaten ideas. Full to the brim with anxiety. That empty slant of light. The vacuum left where it fell silent. That feeling that everyone is moving except me.

Still, two photos in the camera are waiting. They are saturated with sunlight, virtually sopping with it. Etched in light that never fades or slides round the corner before I can catch my breath.

These days are longer in memory than they are in hours, full of a strange, thin, half-light of emptiness. Filled to the brim with longing, these midwinter sun-days.