My heart is drenched in wine
Just when I think I have a little time to lie low and evaporate, toying with ideas for this site and somewhat stale antipasto, this article about blogs by Jenny Sinclair whom I said a passing hello to at the blogmeet has appeared in The Age. (Thanks for the tip, Chris!) I read the article online first, which looks just like any other news item. Then I succumbed to Chris' teasing and picked up a paper copy from the milkbar across the road. What do you know, the article is splashed right on the front page of the culture section. Woo. Allow me to blush for a bit, I'm feeling rather shy.
Does driftwood have feelings? I ventured out into the occasional sunshine today, embarking on a string of errands, and met my aunt for lunch. Reality strikes when sunlight strokes the edge of a leaf. I have vague plans but nothing concrete and it is liberating and frightening at the same time.
Stifled in the steam of a morning shower, I pondered that perhaps what is me has been made from the pieces of the people I know, or rather, those who seem to know me. I had a somewhat English(?) image of a matronly head housekeeper managing a large household, with servants rushing to her for decisions: "no, not that colour, not blue for the Madam's curtains", "yes, Mr Spifzer is a vegetarian, and no he does not eat fish". So in the end, you become the fragments gathered by those around you, you become sculpted by the smaller, finer, insignificant things. Then all that is left is a spark of single-mindedness inside which decides against blue curtains and fish, that which sees sunlight on a leaf simply for what it is.
Posted by sniffles at August 14, 2002 05:22 PM