There was a man lived in the moon, and he played upon a ladle, and his hair was made of cream cheese, and his name was Aiken Drum. It’s a song, and there’s more to it than that, but you get the picture.
Anyway, I’ve just come back from the moon, and there it was sunny, and three days seemed to take a week to go by, and by the evening on Saturday I remember seeing someone in a top I’d seen them wearing earlier, and thought, gosh, how many days have they been wearing that top now? before realising that, of course, ‘earlier’ was breakfast time, and what had felt like two or three days was in fact only one.
Alice in Wonderland, and baking, and walking, and thinking, and talking, and beer, and stories, so many stories, and a wall, and bears, and dreams, and prayers, and silence, and words.
Awkwardly, the best metaphor I have come up with is about earthquakes. I feel bad about that, because I don’t want you to think I’m comparing my life to Japan. Just that a lot of things have changed recently, and what I want and what I wanted to want weren’t always the same thing, and now everything has been dragged back into place again, a new place, like a mental tectonic shift, though unusually painless. These things can never happen all at once. And now I don’t think I necessarily want for anything.