I had forgotten that it was Friday until I was brushing my teeth just now and realized I had no idea what day it was. I have it in my calendar to write to you (twice, for American and British time zones), so today I am unlucky. How are you Soren? I am very tired. And stressed. I’ve been feeling a little nauseous the past few days. Mom is in Ohio helping Sara Hale clean her house; only Aaron and I are here now. I am never alone with him. It’s strange. We don’t talk all day until typical ‘tv time’, and now he’s putting on things he thinks we both will like that Mom won’t. We both like Backrooms, were confused by Us (were too white, I suspect) and casually appreciate Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. I am not very comfortable around him though. If he shares any opinions with Mom (and he has never said them), then he feels about as entitled to my loyalty, definition of family, and television complacency as she does. I don’t know, though, because he so rarely brings it up.
I am working on grad school though. I want to be in Greece. Perhaps there I can have my wisdom teeth out; Mom said she’d arrange it at least a year ago but she never has. They’re hurting as I write. I feel a little cheated; most parents get this done for their children in high school, and we are not poor. It seems that we’re only poor for the important things and never for the constant vacations. I don’t know how credit works, but something feels wrong. Perhaps if she just used that for groceries while saving with the debit?… I don’t know. I’m feeling so very cynical right now. I know she tries. I’d have done it in England, but Mom told me not to, and it wasn’t covered by the NHS. I would just like my gums to stop hurting every few months. But for school, applications, applications… I hate applications. I can never remember where everything is or what to do. Everything is so tedious.
It is now the time of year that I start to be lethargic and sad; but, like the Antarctic explorers before me in that endless polar night, I am shining bright lights in my face to stave it off. And, as is my evolutionary instinct, playing Stardew Valley until I hate myself. I haven’t drawn anything in a week before today, and actively-kept skills like that make you feel like a ship captain who has abandoned the wheel to drink in his cabin, only for the ship to crash upon rocks. Whatever, get the buckets, boys, to keep from taking too much water. I’m thinking about boats a lot lately. Currently reading a book about the Belgica expedition. Miserable European men in the polar regions give me comfort. Work, sleep, stress, darkness, illness, distraction. That is the cycle of an explorer’s life. And that is all that has happened since Halloween.
Christmas is coming up next. I do not look forward to it. It is a time of bad, bad memories as you very well remember. And the stress of family visits. I don’t want to be here, but I hear through the grapevine that Grandma has special plans, so I won’t cruelly flee to anyone else’s anything.
I miss writing. I fear the last story I wrote and sent you has me perk up every time something vaguely necrophilic happens in an academic paper or whatnot. Did you know some rural Greeks today will kiss the skull of a loved one if a reburial takes place? I thought it very sweet. Much nicer than the terrible things I had poor Gertrude thinking about in The Widow’s Walk. Although I feel Byronically miserable, I fear I have yet to translate it to any art. The thing is, you see, Lord Byron had a lot more time on his hands than I do. Besides, in the painting department, I fear I’ve lost all penchant for anything but portraiture. I drew the strangest body today.
I love you, Soren. I made it this far from teenage-hood because I told myself to persist for your sake, that you may not suffer any more than you already have. And thus, I live on, and live, and live.
With love,
Alice