It's beena w while since I wrote. It was hard to put my life on hold sufficiently long to write, and it was hard to put my addictions to the side and write, and hard to seperate my addictions from my life.
I am now in Israel, at my parents' home. I should say my home b/c this is where I grew up, but somewhere along the line it transformed into their home, and I didn't even notice. The war isreally in the air, although we are far from the North. The atmosphere is charged with expectancy, hypersensitivity, not just within these walls but also on the airplane, in the airport, on the road from the airport to here. It seems the even the weather, which is unusually cool for this usually scorshing time of year, an early automn, is charged with expectancy.
My cousin who should have been taking time off from university isn't in Thailand as he had planned but in Lebanon. My uncle, a closed, cynical businessman it's hard to get any display of emotion from, just called my mum.
Yesterday before I went to bed, dead tired b/c the night before I hadn't slept dealing with "het gewoone dingen van mijn degelijks leven" - Ps uncertain, hesitant form of love, my brother and his wife being over for a few days and my jealousy of them b/c I found out they were trying to concieve, irritatation with my body, habits, and need for perfection despite it all, fear of the future, stress emenating from my supervisor, although not explicitly and/or intentionally, for me to perform - and had to get up in the early a.m to catch some kind of shared taxi to the airport, anyway, after all these, and seeing my parents with my dad's pot belly and smoking and whiskey and immobility which worries me so and my mum which also worries me although she looks great for her age, and the poor sad ancient dog who isn't even allowed to sleep in the house anymore b/c she is compltely out of it, doesn't recognize me and hardly them, shits and pees on herself, doesn't enjoy being petted, and it about 200 years old in dog years - after all this usual sadness, stress and worry, I read online about David Grossman's son who was just killed in Lebanon. For once, the talkback comments were grieving and respectful and deeply sad. His father just spoke bravely and quietly, as is his manner.
Damn, it is not the first time that I lose the entire post save for what was automatically saved just by trying to save what I wrote. I knew I should have used Word. I wrote from the bottom of my heart, and now I can't retrieve it. So this will have to do, for now. I wrote about Poor Grossman, and his son, who seem so sensitive and _ I am projecting - out of place in this harsh place. About my resolution to make this visit different and about what matters to me. About the pain that I feel, and helplessness. But this will have to do, for now, b/c real life is also waiting to be lived. It's hard to create a space just for this. And maybe - no, certainly - I will try to be back later.