escape from limbo

I am eating too much spaghetti.

This is what I have to report, after four full days at home. Way, way too much spaghetti.

It’s been a rougher transition than I expected. The loss of momentum I was able to stave off for several months with road trips and cargo ships has finally hit, hard, and here I am, bumming around in the same rooms I bummed around in as an angsty teenager. Only now I am an angsty adult. The added indignity of which fact simply increases my angst.

There is, of course, nothing to do but get over it. And I am. I am willing myself over this hump, visualizing a kind of digestion-of-angst to accompany the digestion-of-noodles I can actually feel happening in my belly. As my stomach acids eat away at the spaghetti, breaking it down, bit by bit, so too will my general malaise disintegrate, its useful components absorbed into the lining of my brain-meats and sent out to circulate productively through my consciousness.

Gross. That’s gross.

I have watched the following video many times today, and I think it’s helping. It is from the Chilean Ship’s Mechanic. We spent a few hours together one evening, and he brought his laptop to the officer’s rec room to show me pictures of his family and his avocado farm back home, about fifty miles outside of Santiago. Mixed in with these photos was the following video, of him dancing with his mother at a family gathering. His mother is ninety-four years old.

A good life. At the risk of sounding sentimental, I have to say, I find it to be very beautiful. Enough so that I asked him if I could have a copy to share with my friends.

That’s you.