Tropical Stillness

I woke up this morning and felt so lonely. No one had called me out for brunch, my painting’s been done so there’s nothing pressing for me to complete, the book I’m reading is so difficult to get through; so beautifully written but so impossible to read. I felt, I feel, lonely.

I don’t particularly wish to be with anyone. Martine perhaps, but he’s beset with his own set of problems. He was in a meeting when I called, asking if he’d like to spend the weekend at the beach perhaps (clearly not a Singaporean one). Busy, busy, psychotic ex-lover wrecked with despair so he couldn’t refuse when she’d begged him to spend one night with her. But he’s checked her into a hotel since, only because someone else stopping over in the country is coming down tonight. Then his dad will be around most of next week. I am not happy at all.

Ethan’s arrival draws closer and I am increasingly excited with each day, but also a little scared. We’re very much in touch with each other, but it’ll be just a few degrees short of a blind date, or so I feel. I am nearly frustrated and tearing myself up with waiting. I need, I just need, to get out.

The days pass in a languid tropical stupor, gently warm, soothingly quiet. I’ve nothing to do except what I wish to do. I want to do so many things, but can’t seem to focus enough, there never feels like there is enough time. And I end up doing nothing. I sit, and feel. The air is still and gently cool, and sometimes I’m almost delirious with concentrating on doing nothing. There is an ecstasy of peace that I find lovely, but however, isn’t what I am. I feel no contentment nor satisfaction of whatever sort. But there is freedom from worry, for just a little while.

It’s odd how you can live in a place for so many years, and never tire of it, most times. My room is exactly like how it has been at the start of ’03 when we renovated it. But most times no one’s conscious of it. I’m not conscious of it, in any case. If I’m not within the pages of a book, I’m in my own head, imagining god-only-knows-what.

I wish to enjoy the feeling of being alone a little longer, and wish I could do it more often. But it can get painful. I cannot be alone for too long. I’m wanting someone I’d fancy to share it with.

Wouldn’t it be nice to lie by the pool, sun-bathe naked so every inch of skin is slowly toasted, and doing so while holding hands, palms sticky with lotion.

I feel like I must shut up today. Shut up and not speak. I’ll not utter a word more then is necessary. I’ll go sun-bathe now. Unfortunately, they don’t like me naked by the pool. For reasons I will never understand.

xoxox