I am not being dishonest when I say I don’t like waking up at 6am. It makes me negative. I hear stories of high-achieving friends waking at sunbreak to write, to lift weights at the gym …different species. It’s only the leaking of the sun through the blinds that stirs me – I take in the morning’s emanation, all objects like clay just thrown and still wet in that bluish light, waiting to be fired. My nerves, like theirs, also quiver…
If I have no obligations, I will drift asleep at 7 into a savage world of my own interior, my dreamer standing at the glass, eavesdropping and observing myself with such precision I am often aghast. I have dreams that enact social satire about our tourist class – ‘What actually IS a Rhode Island?” – to appalling tests of motherhood – I’m really eating live flesh? – to surprises of who’s in bed with whom in what country – the full screen of entanglements. Then there’s the Russian doll metaphor. Walking into a Banana Republic while living in a Banana Republic — oh images on the screen, how crisp and precise! Get out your pith helmet, your jeeps, your fake smiles….