i swam but i still have one knot in my back and depression. tension seems to build and suddenly i want to jump out of my skin. it was mellow at the south end of 57th st. beach and one orange guard focused on her personal device and bothered no one. sensible. people need this place. people need the lake. i was nervous about people but i put my stuff on a big rock and after i swam i sat on my rock. when it got too hot i wandered down the sea wall and found another spot and read my book michael kohlhaas. weird that at first i thought it was a new book, written about an olden time. it was written in 1810. a year later the writer von kleist made a double suicide with a friend. clearly writing books won't save one. a police helicopter zoomed along the coast intimidatingly, but then it was peaceful again. these kids were cute and sweet and happy. the dog callie too, though too shy to swim. she ran off and several hearts paused but she was retrieved. the dad looked at me and shook his head and we smiled wistfully. i think i may have met them before when she was a tiny puppy, but i'm not sure. riding the elevator up i thought my mind is like a sponge but it's old and not so absorbent and it feels squeezed out. at what point are no longer resilient i wonder. i was trying to prepare myself for mister dying before and i don't think i could prepare until after,
i could imagine, but how does one prepare for loss. loss prepares you for loss. but being prepared doesn't mean you are invulnerable. maybe loss prepares you for non-attachment?
i'm not there yet. the loss of mister is mysterious, i feel it, but i felt it more acute when i anticipated losing him. it may just be a compensation of my mind, but i feel he's both released from life and still here. and i'm still here. i used to say we're still here. in a sense, we are still.