Hello my love, past nightfall, up in my friends' tiny study off the bedroom, D on his way back home already, he didn't want to spend the night because it would only cut into his workday tomorrow and make him anxious, but we had a nice drive down, sparkling sunny day, we flew. Until Westchester there were few a**holes on the road, which tended to increase the closer we got to the city, especially once we got off the Taconic onto the Saw Mill - then there they all were, rushing up to tailgate cars in front of us, forcing a car to switch lanes, then zooming up to perpetrate the same, and on and on. I hate the Saw Mill, I am a nervous wreck on it. All those sudden "jump on" entrance points. I hate to tell you this, darling, but I screech and panic and D reacts by coolly switching lanes to get away from my perceived disaster scenario. (Do you not see that I by clutching the dashboard - well, no I don't actually go as far as that - but I absolutely do not close my eyes, do not drift off to sleep, no matter how drowsy I am from yet another day's prep - because to shut my eyes for more than a moment I know would be to court disaster. I similarly, years ago when I still had occasion to fly, would not sleep on a plane - dutybound to keep the unlikely thing aloft by - not lift, not pilot skill, not aerodynamic engineering - but by sheer dint of my vigilant will.)
Having typed this I realize how ridiculous this sounds. No I do not have a God complex. I am not a narcissist in that sense. Then again, I am especially fearful of cars that sport a bumper sticker that reads "God Is My Copilot." Those you have to watch out for.
D and I just had the loveliest snack before he hit the road again. There's a gourmet market around the corner that's like a candy store, so we treated ourselves to tortilla chips and perfect fresh guacamole, a crusty French 'batard' loaf, a runny French camembert, along with some olives, grape tomatoes, and organic carrot sticks. With some rose (me) - a delightful repast.
Yesterday the minor earthquake... and now as of today I'm hearing that the East Coast, NYC included, may get slammed by a hurricane - the local radio here was forecasting it for Saturday. So perhaps I'll go to the beach (yes, I'm kidding). Not quite sure what I'm doing with myself here this week. Certainly food is all taken care of, with everything that I prepared & brought down, so in terms of emergency preparedness few could be as well- and stylishly-provisioned as I, with all the delicious foodstuffs I have on hand, including roast chicken, ratatouille & sausage pizza, spinach-feta pie, chocolate chip cookies, iced coffee, rose wine, eggs from neighbors' chickens, etc., etc.
I wish you were here, we'd have all sorts of fun. But I'll manage, and I'll think of you, as I know you think of me. A package arrived safely here for me today, I found it at the foot of the stairs inside the building, containing a copy of 1.0's book which I was very happy to see that he had inscribed to me in his familiar hand - so I have a wonderful read to look forward to here during my stay (should I, say, become apartment bound due to potential severe weather this weekend), along with (still) the Sewall biography of E.D.
I've made up the comfortable, capacious bed in the bedroom here with sheets - even my pillows - that I brought from home, the little bedside lamp is turned on low, I'm thinking of you, mimi is charging blinkingly, I don't think I forgot to pack anything crucial, so all systems are go, at least for another day, tomorrow, perhaps when I begin to rouse from sleep, with instant thoughts (involuntary, magical) of you as I slowly wake, there you are, what might be while not a nightmare of waking up, being coaxed out of slumber, becomes the most wonderful surprise... oh I'm waking to you? I had forgotten for the time I was unconscious about you, and now here you instantly are, lying right next to me, your beautiful face as constant - no, more so - as the moon, and you stroke my hair, and I in luxurious sleep, smile, and murmur, good morning darling, mmmmm...
and when I turn off the little bedside lamp this evening - charming object, from India I believe, cast-iron miniature elephant seated on its haunches upon a small round base, its curled elongated trunk rising ever upward culminating at hidden tip that holds aloft (as one imagines, not having peeped beneath the skirt) a candelabrum-sheathed apparatus topped with screwed lit bulb - mechanics hidden, the point being the glowing effect of warm amber light flicked through brown slitted beaded sprightly shade - I'll murmur in the darkness, good night darling, good night, mmmmm, sleep well, my love.
oh aarrggh (do you know how long I've been reworking the last paragraph? very long, and it still won't come right! Mark it down as - incomplete - I'll ask for an extension - )
here my big beautiful oh you, darling, no more metaphors tonight, just you, straight on, darling, as I fall asleep, and when I wake up
lights out xoxo