you ran over my white hen.
I haven't practiced in two days. I keep trying, and I think I might be able to now, or in a few minutes, but simply breathing in and exhaling a musical line seems beyond my capabilities right now. I sat for a while, I've been sitting for what seems ages, then finally I left. I walked North and the cold swept through me. It was welcome, clearing everything away and making my cheeks sting till all I could see was sky. I walked East till I knew it was too far, walked west as the sun fell a little further down, and finally south, home. I want to go swimming, I want to go alone, I want to go with an American, because he is so like me, and so unlike me, and because I don't love him, and he doesn't love me, but we like each other, and there's nothing more. I want to feel as though I'll never be warm again, frozen to the bone I'll scream till my voice disappears.
I have a million half formed thoughts, but I've forgotten them all until I try to breathe and think. Frames flew over the world as I walked, little details screaming for my attention; tiny white flowers against black bark, my tower, tall and unforgiving against the sky with the sun behind it, wires leading to it through the maze of buildings. A forgotten path beside the sidewalk, carefully maintained by some old gardener even though no one walks there anymore. I looked at it and wanted to walk along it, only some half remembered fairytale from my childhood holding me back.
I bought rather a lot of music today: Rodrigo; concertos and Orchestral works, Kabalevsky Cello Concertos, and, rather predictably, The Romantic Oboe (2cds)