I’m never able to get Jacques Tati’s 1967 film Playtime completely out of my head. There are phases where, for a few months, it’s on constant mental rotation…and then there are quieter times. And then the cycle repeats.
When I was 12 and going into junior high, dad talked me into playing trumpet.
I’ve mentioned this before, so I’m sorry if I’m repeating myself, but I never really developed much of an ability to use or understand body language. I thought words were the thing, and so I missed out on a lot of what other people were actually saying and everything kind of sucked. Childhood was no fun. I couldn’t connect with the other kids. Our social languages were too different.
eavesdropping notes, saturday, november third, 2007, noon.
fall semester, junior year, 1997
I sort of wake up.
focusing too much on the things passing by.
March 25, 2017
I enter a bar, order a drink, sit at a corner table facing the wall. It’s more convenient to sit at the bar, but there are people there. Humans. I’m more of a wall-facing sort in places like this.
You can feel out the emotional portrait of an event you were not around to witness solely through the memory pointillism of others.
On Twitter, Anonymous asked, “How did you find a good therapist?”