A Prarie Home Companion
a foreign body

building and goodbye to R for the interim

My friend R is off for 2 years to Rh*de Island School of Art and Design. We went to H*vana in Cuba to see her off. Well, alright, it was off Camden St. (They had a lovely home video on a loop of Cuba. Lingering shots of the sea, the seaweed, a dog swimming and some rocks and the beach. It was very interesting (to me at least) how you presume, from the context cues, that it is a narrative sequence and how once you are convinced there is none, you look at it differently, with another part of your brain. There was a prolonged moment where I was watching to see if there was a meaningful link to the last scene and then the slow understanding that there was no narrative link meant that I had reclassified it and had no expectations of it anymore in that way.)

It was good to see R's friends Jane and her husband who are truly nice and to be there and have a glass of wine. I wished I never got onto the subject of R's job though, it was a bit of a can of worms. They are a bit wound up about it this situation, which is quite serious. (R is considering bringing her employers to the Lab*ur Court. Well. I won't get into it.) It felt a little as if I was becoming the focus of the argument - kind of an involuntary devil's advocate - at one point and I felt a bit uncomfortable. I am a bit overtuned to arguments in general. But the moment passed and I think as R herself said, she is grumpy at the moment - not surprising with this situation and going away and the fact her Gran is gravely ill and in heart failure with a DNR order. She has had a rough year and it's sad that the excitement of the MFA is being obscured by the trouble at work and with family.

I do need to separate myself - to stay in my own sphere in these situations. In general maybe. I was thinking about that last night as I tossed and turned and felt too hot and too cold and had strange thoughts that A*t (R's friend) isn't friendly to me anymore and has been strange since he fell out with B while living in my apartment. (B apparently had a pathological lack of boundaries to the degree that he'd borrow anything including razor blades and deodorant. He was lucky not to "fall" off the balcony so bad things got). The point is whether or not A has stuff, it's his stuff, not mine, and I need to stay in my own sphere and work on that little round space. I never see him anyway.

Eventually I went to sleep and this morning my subconscious gave me the gift of a dream about George Cl**ney.
Which cheered me up completely.

I tell you Bots, this is therapeutic. I am nicely vented.

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