Yesterday I woke up late and had, for the whole day, a sense of it being suddenly later than what I’d expected. Suddenly it was past five rather than just three. Suddenly it was eleven rather than eight. A quick turnover between the morning’s wakefulness and my first errand prevented a gradual change from week to weekend. As such, the feeling pervades, so now it’s suddenly saturday.
It doesn’t feel like a saturday. It’s louder and more crowded than most weekdays, but seems no more relaxed. There’s no air of festivity, no sense of relaxation. Maybe I’m projecting.
None of my gay friends seem so excited about yesterday’s ruling as I’d have expected. The biggest, loudest celebrators on my facebook have been heterosexual acquaintances. Perhaps, like me, my non-straight friends see the ruling as less of a victory than as a reminder of how long delayed the granting of such a basic right has been. Maybe they’re all planning weddings.
The drops in my eyes make the world blurrier than usual, the inside of St. Thomas’s looks like an impressionist painting. My new glasses won’t come for two weeks. My vision should return to normal in a few hours. I’m finding being nearly perfectly near-sighted less frightening and more peaceful than I’d have expected. Losing my sight has perpetually been one of my greatest fears, yet this temporary decline has put me in a restful mood.
Maybe it’s the rain, the grey isolation reminds me of my time in Scotland, and of before that, looking out from my window and seeing only the trees and a sliver of the Susquehanna as the rest of my view was precluded by fog. The sense was, is, of intimacy, not of bereavement. The rest of the world still exists beyond the opacity, nothing is lost, but one must wish to pursue it to become a part of it.