an email i wrote to an old friend of mine.
m to the c,
i rolled out of bed today at one o'clock. i had been awake since nine.
i think this is what they call post-grad ennui. lying around, staring
at the ceiling, the stack of books i could read, if i could read. i
feel like "the graduate."
when i finally did roll out of bed at one o'clock, it was not for
me. it was for the mailman. the thought of him slipping to his death
on our ice-covered front steps because i didn't roll out of bed in
time to throw some salt down, made me feel ill. actually, the thought
of whether or not i would be able to get out of bed once he did slip
in order to call an ambulance made me feel ill. i couldn't let him die
because i felt hopeless. he always brings my mail on time.
love, e.mae
in the early 1970s, there was a sign posted on the Santa Maria della Salute church in Venice that read, "Beware of Falling Angels." it literally referred to the marble pieces that had not yet been restored.
for some reason, i can't seem to get the phrase out of my head these days. it has so much potential to be filled with more meaning. like, the mailman who got me out of bed where i might have languished away in a puddle of my own torpor - no, that's too dramatic. something better will come.
