I painted the last two days, very long days, and I was exhausted by the end of yesterday. Though not a good painter at all, within the realm of what I am things are going well, almost like I know what I'm doing. It will pass.
I'd planned to make a decent dinner but it was late and I was tired and there are things going on, always things, like no matter how devoted I am to my own invisibility I cannot escape the awfulness that is other people, and this weighs on me deeply. There is no reprieve, shutting your door is no reprieve and I ... am ... simply an eternal shadow of a man who is not certain he is any longer on earth even, there is so much missing from me.
When I went out to get some food, I saw there was a single Guinness Extra Stout left from a six pack, and though I'm not drinking much beer anymore this seemed divined, so I bought it. Then walking home I remembered the full moon from the previous night, and I thought maybe I should try to see that, the moon rising.
It was after 8pm. I'd not eaten since breakfast but I took the Guinness and went to the hallway window where I would sit for another forty five minutes, drink the beer, and wait for the moon. What a beautiful night of stunning silence: to sit in the window for that time, to nurse the beer, to watch the twilight - and everyone in it - passing.
And then the moon rose.
It was exactly what I needed.
