Or Summer Solipsism

Perhaps I’m too much like my fruit. Things that sit still rot. Maybe this is me sitting still. I am Silas’ brain not moving. I am Silas’ clogged heart. I am Silas’ stopped up soul. And perhaps this revolution, this cataclysm is just more passive-aggressiveness. And maybe I am not doing anything more than hiding. Hiding from joy, hiding from living, hiding from risk, yes. But anything worthwhile risks something. What am I risking here?

But then I remind myself. I haven’t changed much. For the most part, my life remains the same. But it’s the details, it’s the little things that catch you. Like cutting your own hair. Like eating only whatever you’ve ordered from the grocery store. Like having to wait on a craving. Like, now that it’s summer, not going over to friend’s houses. There are not so many friends or friends’ houses. A few, sure. But most of my friends are in relationships. Most of my friends have babies. They talk about weddings they have to go to, showers, and parties, and commitments to their partner’s families and they all complain and envy my freedom. Funny, that.

I have become the ultimate witness. I remember that bit from Biloxi Blues. The writer, Matthew Broderick, was shamed for being only a witness. I don’t want to live only as a witness. What epitaph for a witness? “He came. He saw.” I am Silas’ dead canceled eyes.

It was Canada Day yesterday. I had nearly missed it. I had nearly forgotten. When I took Murphy out, there were more people, much more people, than normal. Why are there so many people around, I wondered? I see a flag. I see some revelers and it dawns on me only slowly. It’s a holiday. Wow. That’s messed up.

A turtle when startled will retract into his shell. Startled well enough and long enough, a turtle will starve in his shell. A caterpillar makes a cocoon in anticipation of a chrysalis (I’m impressed I spelled that word correctly on the first go, but never mind). Is this my chrysalis or shall my soul starve and die?

I haven’t set a deadline on this project. I haven’t yet done nearly all of the things I intend to do, either. With this project and with this life. I am Silas’ solipsistic — again, first try, bully for me — brain talking to itself.

SS