It’s been a long time since I read before sleep. Of course I grew up reading for hours before bed, and in the middle of night when I couldn’t sleep, which was as often as not. I slept in a sea of books and notebooks and pens. The space between my bed and wall was a small, unkempt library, and the desk next to my bed had a short stack, too. When I got injured a few years ago, it became impossible to read comfortably–elbows, neck–and I lost my favorite way to travel.
You should understate your pain, in writing, if you want anyone to read it. That sounds maudlin, but my tone thinking this, writing it, is flat. It’s an observation about things I’ve read, what works, what doesn’t.
I can read comfortably enough now–just now, just the last few weeks, not even a few months ago–to not be distracted by discomfort or have to rearrange and break the flow every couple minutes. And J falls fast asleep and I wonder if the reading at night is some way to go back to old parts of myself, or do something private and mine, as he seeps in everywhere.
I didn’t understand the intimacy of someone in your space all the time. Someone seeing your small habits, someone knowing if there is open wine in your fridge. For the first time, I am being seen in a way that I suppose would be familiar had I not grown up as an a voice, no body, more or less a hallucination to my parents. I am used to intimacy in doses with friends, some times intense but time-controlled, and this is not that. At moments it is like something closing in on me. I didn’t know about this. How could I have?
Most people like this, want this, and I will probably adjust. But I am not sure. And not troubled by my unsureness–it will unfold, I can’t and don’t need to answer that now. I do find myself wondering what it means for my life. Would I actually prefer to live alone? Can I live with a partner and have enough social energy for friendships, which, right now, I simply don’t? Do I need to be with someone more introverted, or more independent?
This is all the beginning, and I don’t know how to do it yet. I will give it time–that is my discipline, my practice.