Saturday, January 21, 2012

My love, where are you - I am missing you so much. Darling, I'm not giddy, just full of feeling, and bursting with pleasurable sensations, and sensual pleasures of all sorts, real & imagined. Oh let me pause right here sweetheart and kiss you, in the buff except for my brand new boots, brown furlined laceups. Baby I'm just pulsating. We're not in Cambodia anymore, except that my jeans are tight and my bodice is loose and --

Oh baby. You know, maybe one of these years you should email me again and we'll see what we can do. Only no gaps between messages that might as well be measured in geologic time.

Dearest, sweetest, sweetest love. Oh kisses again. I had an amazing session with you this morning - thank goodness for storm windows. What am I going to do once the screens go up? Actually, it was a weird session, started out emotional, because I'd misread a line of E.D.'s that I took very much to heart... I do not ask if you are "better"--because split lives--never "get well"--but the love of friends--sometimes helps the staggering--when the Heart has on it's great freight

It's an excerpt from an E.D. condolence letter... that I looked up in my own library copy of Volume 2 of Jay Leyda's The Years and Hours of Emily Dickinson. [Proper links another time] The Secret Life of E.D. FB page turned me on to it, and I reserved it from the library system, and there arrived volume 2 - the two-volume set was miscatalogued so it will be a while, it seems, before I encounter Volume 1. This - as Lenore without so many words suggests - is a volume to own, simply to dip into, from time to time, and time again. For example, someone (you?) likes my "grab-bag gift" post, and I think of that when I turn to Leyda's appendix, in which he includes contemporaneous scraps of noted memories of those who had had some, even the slightest most peripheral acquaintance with E.D., or were in a position, close enough, to recount town gossip about her. And so there were wonderful snatches -- such as of her little nephew's habit of visiting his auntie, and leaving behind what was extraneous to his toddler self -- and so a pair of little boots was sent back to the Evergreens, sprouting like vases blossoms from E.D.'s garden; or another time he'd left behind a jacket - which was returned, with notes pinned to the pockets - one read, 'Come In,' the other 'Knock' -- and one pocket contained raisins, the other nutmeats....

I must blog on a daily basis otherwise it all flies away, and there's nothing drearier (as in Christmas form letters) than backstory...

Start with where you are. At the moment I'm savoring the sensation of especially cozy & delicious boots on my feet, that I'm wearing as slippers for this evening only, since they haven't yet encountered the slushy frosty roads -- since there's now snow on the ground, as of the past couple of nights. These are my "church boots," as I think of them, since I will be walking down the road tomorrow morning, in them.

I went to the movies today, what might have been a colorful alternative to the bleak greiged out slushy overcast torpid scene here --- except that the film I chose to see at the multiplex was Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy -- which - without the benefit of any snow on the ground that I recall -- was not so different in its coloration. I stuck through it, consulting my watch every now and then... 1:45, 2:15, 2:45... trying to determine my own stamina in the face of a 127 minute movie. I came close to leaving at any given point. But I stuck through it, perhaps because my heart rate might actually have dropped. It was that slow-mo a chess game...

Dearest - oh my love, kisses. Afterburn, in the pleasantest sensations...

This is the worst post ever, in terms of literary stylings, but oh darling -- I miss you, I want you so badly
I miss 1.0 very badly also, he missed a beat, first time in ages - I love him still, and it is very hard for me (as this afternoon) to see a movie that features Colin Firth

the boots I'm wearing are awfully cute
I'm not built like Angelina
and I don't have exactly Vera Farmiga legs
but - oh I don't know - I think I look okay
my snug jeans tucked into the furlined tops
boy do I wish you were around
and you are darling, you are
many licks, and kisses

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