(This drawing was an exquisite corpse exercise by my partner and I while we waited for food next to a table of 30 people, a quarter of them hungry children under five at a Smitty’s restaurant on July 1st. They were really lovely (and loud) and drawing helped me focus in the overwhelming noise.)
3:05am.
Today I typed on a for real typewriter. I did not buy it, and I am regretting it. It didn’t come with an extra ink ribbon. The gentle shopkeep told me that the woman who had donated it dropped it off in its closed case saying “here is a microscope”.
It wasn’t. It was a beautiful sounding and feeling typewriter from approximately 1955.
This machine was nearly twenty years my senior and when I hit the keys they made the perfect sound.
Tonight my best friend sent me a link to buy typewriter ribbon.
I’m so excited about editing my novel on a typewriter that will sit on my writing desk that I can’t sleep.
Brilliantly I’m on vacation. My children are still at their father’s house. My partner is gently snoring next to me, oblivious to my thorough awakenedess. My best friend is sleeping downstairs having so wisely hit the hay at 9pm.
I, on the other hand, knowing I get to sleep tomorrow, played Star Dew Valley until 11:30pm. Then my partner and I watched the end of the Johnny Cash episode of Columbo (it’s real and it’s real weird) until just after midnight. I woltzed with a stranger because my partner needed to get to sleep. Woltzing is what I call playing Word Blitz, a ridiculous and unimpressive competitive word game that my partner and I have been playing since we were first separated by distance and borders way back in…July 2018.
(That is six years ago. I have been Woltzing every night for SIX years. This aside is brought to you by the utter surprise that I was able to commit to anything for six years. I think this only rivalled my six year obsession with dinosaurs, and…oh yeah…my daily writing habit of…when did my mother put me in the corner to learn my letters…I was 3 years old, and now I’m 45…so 42 years of daily writing. 42. That makes my heart happy. Aside over.)
I woltzed and then I tried to sleep.
It’s hot in my room. Or I’m hot in my room? I can’t tell anymore if it’s the air, or me.
It is 3:18 and I’ve barely even explained why I can’t sleep.
Here’s a secret.
I’m terrible a vacations. Or rather. I’m terrible at REST. I can sleep if I’m not supposed to. I’m the emperor of napping at ill advised times.
But tomorrow I promised my best friend I would be up at 10am so we can go on small manageable adventures.
But I just read everything that
just wrote because they said a thing that really got to me. The way they write is like powdered sugar on my tongue, it dissolves and I want to immediately sprinkle more because it feels good. But unlike powdered sugar it has substance. I had to read several of the writings multiple times because I didn’t want to miss anything. The turns of phrase were so delightful I wanted to read them aloud and commit them to memory like important poetry.But good writing is dangerous in the best of ways.
It makes it hard to sleep. And it makes me want to write.
I went away for the weekend with my love (I use this and partner interchangeably, and sometimes I say spouse. They are all the same person. Perhaps I should give them I fake name or a symbol so it’s clearer. Says the person who tucks long asides in even though they may upset the flow of the reader. Clarity isn’t always my jam, and I apologize)
I went away with my partner, spouse, love (same person) to the Canadian craft capital. From Friday to Monday we had adventures while my best friend cared for my pup and had adventures of her own.
I showed my partner…let’s call them ‘r’. I showed r a fortress.
This fortress:
…on the very last day of our holiday away. July 1st. Unbeknownst to us in advance entrance was free due to the national holiday.
We took a shuttle to the fortress. People were dressed in so much red. They were celebrating. We were not. We just wanted to see something old.
I’d seen this fortress when I was small. All I remember was people in uniforms, and bullfrogs. I remember hearing bullfrogs. I was 3, or 4 depending on the timing.
I had always wanted to go back.
(Oh no. The light of my phone in the darkness drew a flying night bug to my bed and now I want to turn off my phone…but I don’t think I’ll sleep, so I’ll brave the winged night creatures and at least finish this story, or ramble, whatever it may be)
…and watching my partner see something so old was stratifying…our relationship built new levels on Monday. I watched them fall into an awe state.
My partner is from Vegas. Born. Raised. Escaped defiantly. And Vegas, it is new. Full of new. Even its old things are new.
This fortress is one of the oldest things in this new country. And it is maintained. And it feels like traveling back in time.
So on Monday we travelled back in time.
And that made the nearly six hour drive there and back worth it. (Spending time with my partner, spouse, love…r…is always worth it. Even right now as they lay breathing softly beside me, they’ve stopped snoring, so I’ll be able to sleep if I ever stop writing)
3:42am
I think I just needed to document these memories before they disappeared. Later these rememberings will coalesce into stories. But here the things I remembered are bones that I will add flesh to in the future.
I’ll talk about the crafters market held on a musty church hall with people so vibrant it felt like summer camp. We talked to everyone. I bought an ET doll and accidentally carried it like a baby for two hours until the crook in my arm fell asleep. Everyone cooing at my alien child. The nostalgia and excitement of a shared pop culture helping us make quick bonds with magical strangers. I left floating on a cloud of absurd kindness, bags full of art, handmade objects and a bajillion stickers to add to my car.
That also made the drive worth it.
So many things did.
I think that right now, what I’m most grateful for, is a partner who is happy to meet new wondrous humans and hear their stories, and a best friend who has this ability to help people unfold like flowers in the sunlight (or night blooming darlings with the moon) and when I’m with them, magical things happen. They happen when I’m alone too.
But I don’t have to be alone with the magic anymore. They see it too.
It’s fucking everywhere.
No wonder I can’t sleep.
I’m in magical overload.
I’ll be okay. One night of not sleeping won’t do me in. I’m not even tired. I’m just calmly happy about the life I’m getting to live right now.
I’m letting myself not read the news for a week. I’m giving myself small quiet meaningful moments with my best friend. Maybe I’m not sleeping right now. But I think this joy is restful. I think it’s okay for me to rest differently than is prescribed.
3:56am.
I hope.
I’m glad you exist.
Heart,
Wake
(Doesn’t this look like a portal? Art? It was just a wall falling into disrepair. And really really beautiful.)
10:24am
I slept fitfully. I woke at ten after dreams about passive aggressive servers and mean martial art instructors. It is funny now that I’m awake.
Then edited this piece for clarity(ish).
And now. Adventure!
Thank you so much for mentioning me, Wake. I'm so glad you were able to get something out of what I've posted so far.
Also, that drawing at the beginning - I'd love to know more about this exercise!? It looks so cool.
P.s yes I do believe the wall is a portal like the stones in the Gabbon books. Heart to you my friend