Echolalia

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So this is my forewarning.  I don’t know…really, how the posting is going to after Wednesday for at least ten days.  My laptop’s in no shape to travel and the phone is just really not comfortable to write something of that length.  So I don’t know if there will be a Saturday night post between Minnesota and Seattle’s trips.  I will absolutely try, I can offer you that much.

In Seattle, notes as best I can to remember the most crucial moments of laughing until I physically hurt.

….

It’s 10:30p.m.  I am not going to go get the leftover coffee I brought home and drink it.  Better to be exhausted and sleep than ratcheted up one or five more notches and crash.

It’s 11:24p.m. and I am still 400 words off the mark.  I do feel really grateful today.  I feel grateful that my feet and hands felt 50% less weird than yesterday and I’m puzzling out a few of the things I am doing to make my body so miserable.  Not all, but some.  I am really grateful that my cousin will come and have coffee for me and speak to me for an hour and 15 minutes about the broken record of my life.  She will listen and soak up every word and piece it back together and say it feels like this is all about safety for you or something else that makes perfect sense to me and makes me feel like I’m not a child.   Suddenly, I am capable of sitting still for that long and just listening and talking and not having any sort of panic or thought about anything but being a part of that symbiosis.  That was great.  I am grateful for the whole relaxed afternoon that followed.  I’m grateful for my thirst.  I’m grateful for other people’s lists so I don’t have to remember everything.  I’m grateful for extemporaneous wit.  I’m grateful for wheat being cut away from the chaff.  I’m grateful for the laugh.  I am grateful that she has bought S. and is asking me how to read it so that I can be grateful to have someone to talk to about it.

I’m grateful that I did not eat through the pavement today.  I am grateful I didn’t swallow a pinch of salt for all the salt that spilt.  I am grateful for the memories being bandied about on the mystical dream house my grandparents lived in.  I am grateful it might be allowed to stand.

I’m grateful for the distance on someone I need distance on.  I’m grateful that I don’t have to take the first beautiful that comes my way, nor the second.  I’m grateful for another old man to chase.  I’m grateful for my google-fu and my hunger for shadows, Swedish, younger than they were, and entirely ill.  I’m grateful for being able to push through when my brain wants to deny me my power.  I’m grateful that I can learn and know and be a part of these giant cultural touchstones in my own time, because they’re flying too fast and furious these days.

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