Cass,
It’s been some time since I last wrote to you. I must confess an immense guilt, but the words have been difficult to find. I can scarcely explain it. The truth is that these days, most things seem to come at a great cost. I find myself struggling to find the meaning in anything.
Life is much of the same. Which is to say, nothing much at all, really. A lazy haze — an indistinct, shapeless mass. Sleep evades me, I hardly work, don’t write (well) and rarely make it a point to see anyone. I read books of all kinds but tire of them as soon as I flip the cover open.
I wrote to you once about a force. Existence, as a comedy (in the Greek sense). We’re born and thus cast into this grand tragedy, compelled to act it out. This thinking has resurfaced a great neurosis, a teenage anxiety I've fooled myself into thought having conquered. And so, I’ve quit my job. I am adrift, searching for something, constantly worrying about how to make rent.
Beyond that, I’m not sure what to do now. Do I head down to Mexico and fuck off for some time? There’s a silversmith down there that teaches you how to work with metal. I could see myself distracted with crafting jewelry but I fear it won’t be enough. Back home, the camera repair shop is hiring apprentices. I see a wholesome satisfaction in that archival work. I could always go back to university, though what I would study, I cannot say.
Earn a living, as if you’re not already alive.
Sometimes, when Noelia is away, I find myself lying on my bed, still as can be. In this dormant state, I’ll take a deep breath and hold it in until my lungs plead for mercy. I break. I breathe back out, repeating this cycle endlessly.
When things come to an absolute lull, I slip into a trance. I open a door to another world, a world full of flora, people and religions that don’t exist. In feverish haste, I wake and scribble down my incantations. It will feed me for a week. I’ll work on it like a madman and beat the reverie to death. It’s as if the nearer I draw, the smaller it gets. Until I get so close it no longer exists.
I’ll wear it out and I’m left with nothing.
Most days, I prefer not to think at all. It’s a giant ruse. After all, no one ever thought their way to happiness. The few that make the journey there are those that refuse to think, those that let go. I wish for nothing but the strength to relinquish myself to the whims of the universe.
I cannot escape this tragedy, Cass. I long for escape with you.