Letter 22

Dear Josephine,

It appears Neko Case has peered into my soul. Walking to work, her lyrics flash through my mind: "Thought I was young, now I've freezing hands and bloodless viens, as numb as I've become, I'm so tired."

The above quotation, coupled with the first stanza of Stephen Dunn's poem "A Chance for the Soul" accurately reflects how I've been feeling:

"Am I leading the life that my soul,
Mortal or not, wants me to lead is a question
That seems at least as meaningful as the question
Am I leading the life I want to live
Given the vagueness of the pronoun "I,"
The number of things it wants at any moment."

I've been trying to define my lack of motivation, coming up only with the words "disheartened" and "disillusioned", which serve a dramatic purpose but do not apply to the cloud that seems to have positioned itself in front of my body. Look, mother, an automaton. Look mother, albaster and mutilated statues.

Now, thanks to Neko Case and S. Dunn, I've managed to explain this fever as a blinding numbness I'm both striving to analyze and reveal. There is no concealing this unhappiness, the door began to crack upon entering, splinters wait for bare heels. No, do not fetch more wood, I have no need for pilings. No, do not mend this door with spackle and sweat, the scars are there for the seeing.

Only: decide what one is doing. Life is always a staying and a going.

l.c.

p.s. Sometimes I pray for tears.