I almost didn’t go because I didn’t feel like pretending to be smarter than I really am, around a bunch of my folks, all in the name of ‘our recovery’ (all the sighing is so much more convenient that way, I guess). I don’t want to be shady; I’d rather shine a light, as much as I can, as tired as I am. I went because I knew there’d be people there who know how to love me, to hug them and maybe shake the hands of a few people I don’t know. If you don’t know me by now, well, there’s always the archives …
It’s a little after 3am and I’m up because I just took a pill. Yes, it’s down to one, but I woke up to take it. I’m writing this hoping it will help me fall back asleep. The original editions of In The Life and Brother to Brother aren’t the forgotten books on my shelf, but they’ve probably collected the most dust. I’m sure that now I’ll wipe them down as I’ve recently done to other less memorable books on my shelf, and maybe even the shelf itself. I only water the plants on top of them every Sunday. (No, it’s not that deep. Besides, they didn’t ask to be here.) I went instead of shredding a bunch of papers that just happen to have my name printed on and dealing with other things that I really should have dealt with a long time ago. I’m chuckling to myself, thinking about what all this could mean as more time goes by and how it could all be misinterpreted.
Some have wondered what Melvin Dixon, Joseph Beam and Essex Hemphill might have done with the technology that makes this all possible. I’m wondering what they would have thought of a movie like Notes On A Scandal, particularly what they would have thought about Judi Dench’s fascinating portrayal of Barbara Covett and her journal writing.
Whatever. I’m going back to sleep.
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