Happy May! How’s it treating you so far? I went back to school on Saturday, and the flight went well. No disasters this time. Here are some nice pictures from the plane:
The flight was very nice, and I did lots of drawing and writing on it. Now I am just here writing my essays. I’ve had very bad jet lag and lived through a few sleepless nights. There was a thunderstorm a few days ago with great flashes of lightning, and torrential movie-rain, which was worse than any I’d ever seen. We rarely get thunder and lightning back home. I don’t remember it ever in Eugene, but maybe that’s just the poor memory. I think we got a bit over winter break and went out to look for it, but didn’t see any, and the cats ran to hide in the basement. Have you had any in Eugene these past few years?
Sometimes I feel overwhelmed here. I feel great pain about you all the time but when I come here I’m more lighthearted. I feel like a windup toy with these letters. There’s a song Sophia and I used to sing on the swings: “Ginger’s turning into a windup toy! Ginger’s turning into a windup toy! Ginger’s turning into a windup toy!” But the pain doesn’t change either. It just gets more vague over time like a bad dream has stalked me across the years. I have no conclusion, just observance. Imagine if we could have a conversation. I sometimes feel like I’m talking to a scratched, misty ambrotype. Who am I talking to? I suspect we understand each other on a more profound level than anyone, for I’ve never seen a single precedent for our situation. But it’s been almost half your life, and I don’t know a thing you like now. Is purple still your favorite color? Taylor Swift your favorite musician? What have you done with the wretchedness of our circumstances? Do they haunt you as well? My first instinct is still to say you’re nine. Perhaps that isn’t wrong: I often feel as though I went into suspension at eleven.
With love,
Alice