The recently completed vacation is a difficult creature to fix in place.
Returning home is like stepping out of the water. There’s the relief of dry land, warmth, and the familiarity of the everyday. There is tangible evidence of your swim, but those ripples subside and the water evaporates from your skin. After that point it’s hard to fully recall the sensations of moving through water, floating, being immersed. Eventually you fall asleep without the body memories of being buoyant flittering through your muscles.
The longer the journey, the harder it is to write-up. Do you start at the end, the most recent images, and hope the beginning is there when you arrive? Do you hope your recall of the start of the journey doesn’t write over the ending? Do you submit to the fact that memory isn’t linear at all and just expand on what you can grasp at any given sitting, hoping that a whole will be made of your parts?
As I fell asleep last night I remembered an omission in my narrative: After Khalida and I stretched side-by-side at her apartment and before I was pacing, about to teach, in her studio, she’d read my cards.
( Fixed lj cut )