If you ever feel bad about thinking about going off Facebook, just try actually going through with it and watch how mean the thing is in response. It picks your 3 or 4 favorite people and shows you their pictures, tells you how much they'll miss you.
If you leave by the most obvious route offered, you aren't even really leaving. If you figure out how to fully exit, it removes all traces that you ever existed, so your friends are left commenting on things you never said.
It isn't that I don't want the connections, I just don't want them confined to a snow globe full of mirrors. I'll let you know if I figure anything out, or whether maximum tundra persists despite this latest half-baked attempt at cleaning house.
11.12.2010
11.04.2010
russian doll
Our new house is an old house and when we moved in you mentioned offhand that you felt the presence of other histories, other owners that had come before. I didn't notice it at first but gradually I did; it started to feel like our lives in that house were the outer surface of a Russian doll, with six or seven vanished generations clamoring from the inside, sealed hermetic, waiting for their chance.
You show me important things in that offhand way, and gradually I could feel the weight of -- but couldn't see -- other lives from the past couple of centuries in that house. I felt strangely accountable to them, and I wondered what they'd think when I snuck a snack at night, or watched too much TV, or said something curt to you.
Gradually those lives felt more real. Sometimes walking into the kitchen I would hear someone was crying in the heat vent, a mournful cry beyond reserve, beyond despair. Late, the house would fill with incongruous smells, like baking bread, or camphor, or wine that had gone sour. I would get this fast alone sense and feel a need to run upstairs,looking behind me the whole way, and I would lie down as quick as possible, without even taking off my shoes. My dreams came from other eras, and I would wake up mid-thought, in a mind I didn't recognize.
Right when we had our first child something shifted. When we got home from the hospital I could feel them all waiting up for us, like proud relatives. I was nervous, and it helped me sense that things would be alright -- that we would figure it out.
I was excited to tell you I could feel the ghosts in this house all around us, like a greeting party, but you told me it was all imagination and asked me to put on some tea. I said you're probably right. It's been years now and I can't tell if the ghosts are gone or if we just stopped noticing their presence.
You show me important things in that offhand way, and gradually I could feel the weight of -- but couldn't see -- other lives from the past couple of centuries in that house. I felt strangely accountable to them, and I wondered what they'd think when I snuck a snack at night, or watched too much TV, or said something curt to you.
Gradually those lives felt more real. Sometimes walking into the kitchen I would hear someone was crying in the heat vent, a mournful cry beyond reserve, beyond despair. Late, the house would fill with incongruous smells, like baking bread, or camphor, or wine that had gone sour. I would get this fast alone sense and feel a need to run upstairs,looking behind me the whole way, and I would lie down as quick as possible, without even taking off my shoes. My dreams came from other eras, and I would wake up mid-thought, in a mind I didn't recognize.
Right when we had our first child something shifted. When we got home from the hospital I could feel them all waiting up for us, like proud relatives. I was nervous, and it helped me sense that things would be alright -- that we would figure it out.
I was excited to tell you I could feel the ghosts in this house all around us, like a greeting party, but you told me it was all imagination and asked me to put on some tea. I said you're probably right. It's been years now and I can't tell if the ghosts are gone or if we just stopped noticing their presence.
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