one week later

 

Friday a week ago was the final day of the Matchpoint exchange, and it is only today that I have finally had the space (or is it the time?) to organise all the many thoughts in my head. I have written a list of headings in my journal which I intend to elucidate on here over the coming days. But for now these bad video stills from the day we cooked 'lonesome food' together at Dick's apartment. And a mish mash of bits of writing:

Memory is overlaid with the actual. Locking the toilet door and remembering how I could never quite work out whether the catch had caught and being surprised on many occasions. And last night the purposeful walking around with no purpose. I realise now how lonely I was then and how this city is filled with the memory of my loneliness. Walking the streets, any street, just where my feet would lead - more often than not round and round the theatre so I wouldn't have to hang out in the foyer by myself - listening to my mini disc. Hard to believe that 5 years ago I didn't have an ipod. And once, walking and listening, seeing two boys eyeing me off, walking towards me and then parting so they could go either side, and me being so aware that something was going to happen, tightening my grip on my mini disc, and then to be surprised that they just hit me on the arse and then ran. So lame. So nothing. And then into the theatre to see a show that I don't remember now. My memory is mostly only the excruciating wait in crowded foyers. Not the show at all.

I've still got the image of the red heads running through the minefield and am annoyed that I can't shake it. Big waves too. Ships over waves. And thinking about high rise buildings. How we stayed in that apartment on the fiftieth floor and everytime I fell asleep I felt like I was rolling off the edge and would catch myself. Trying to rewrite history. Trying to save people who can't be saved and wanting the ground beneath my feet. I ask what disaster. Britney Spears make up smudge.

Last night remembering my dreams - being told not to gesture with my hands. To use my legs because its less expressive and Matan telling me I look like a duck anyway.