It’s been weeks and, believe me, I’ve barely stopped to tie my boot.
Time passes and passes and “[the] infernal beings in those lands are constantly subject to inauspicious colouring, poor metabolism, ugly bodies, horrible experiences and awful shapes, all of which multiply their miseries.”
I have become flooded and unrecognizable. The extant recognition now being programmatically nipped in bud by strangers and siblings.
My nicknames are being slowly encroached upon by people who are mad at me, by people who aren’t mad at me but have other things at stake. And new nicknames are cropping up from unapproved sources or for unapproved reasons.
That and– I’ve spent 9 days now, emailing the dean every single day, trying to get a grade moved from someone else’s transcript onto mine. How fitting that they would put my grade for an independent study on freakishness, monstrosity, and memoir onto someone else’s transcript. After five years of work with the same administrators day after day, they cannot remember my name, cannot remember I need their help to fix the mistake, and consequently cannot help but prevent me from involving myself in the next officious University. So much for confessing in service to something hegemonically corrupt but specially efficient.
I repeat myself over and over. I am periodically acknowledged– which is even more confusing. I feel like I’m trying to shout to people on the beach with my head well underwater.
This has been a shudder and leak-filled week. Yesterday, while diligently at work on my midterm papers, I periodically fell into dampness, tears pouring down my cheeks. There was no sobbing, just a little too much straightforward moisture for a cafe.
Last week I dreamt of a lesion 3 inches in diameter below my right breast. It was 1 inch raised, soft and discolored like an elephantine burn. I thought it was a grave illness but then my mother said there was piece of glass in my side. Of course! A piece of glass! An infection. She removed the triangular shard with her fingers like she would a splinter and the fluid drained onto my clothing. I sopped it up and she closed the wound with safety pins.
Forgive the water from my side.
As illustration I offer the uncannily apt:
(mbc in very large chair, reflected. San Diego.)