Wednesday, “Mittwoch,” the day in Germany the Schwäbische say couples have sex (which gives new meaning to the phrase hump day). In bed by 8 o’clock and up by 5, early morning walk to the lake, it’s just me and a few Christmas lights, some glowy clouds with hollowed-out eyes, cartoon ghosts. Just finished David Mitchell’s Slade House, a bonafide horror story, prelude to Bone Clocks. At the lake in the dark someone whistles off to my right but then next time, it’s off to my left, and I think well, maybe I’ve had enough of the lake, and turn back. Afraid that my client at work regrets letting me take the month of December off, which made sense in July, when everyone else was going to Europe, and I was supposed to be in the Austrian Alps but that fell through, and then again in October (UK, Oslo, etc.) for reasons I can’t explain but make sense to me now, even though I don’t like the outcome. As a contractor you have to be OK being put wherever, whenever, and feeling like a pawn—even though I like to think I can do more than most pawns, I can move in L-shapes and sometimes, diagonally.
Remembering a dream from last night, I was at my old office in Seattle’s industrial district (called SODO), me and two other guys in hospital gowns running like we’re trying to escape, but I look down and I’m barefoot, and they’re climbing over the fence and there’s razor wire: I can see the fence bend under the strain of their weight, can feel the cold mud, see the outline of my foot it’s so real: but then I remember in the dream a few frames back I had these superpower jumping skills, I could leap like a cat, like there’s springs on my feet—or I’m an astronaut and the gravity is a less, I can just hop and bounce along like that, tethered.
In bed with Charlotte last night she says it’s funny how it’s dark in here but it seems to be getting brighter and I say that’s because you’re getting used to it, it’s called night vision, learning to see in the dark.