I am reading a new book, called "forever". It's about New York City, specifically, Manhattan. But it starts with 18th century Ireland. I don't remember where I got this book from, and why. Was it gift? Was it my idea from reading something that won some big prize? I can't remember. I remember a lot of things, but I don't remember a lot of things also.
It's about a man that lives forever as long as he never leaves Manhattan. For now, the first ten pages, there is a lot of charm. Ireland always makes people, at least Americans, think about enchantment. So far I like it. I only wish I can find the time to read it.
I have been sleeping in the train these past weeks that I have had guests and dancing. At least I am not losing sleep over a broken heart. That's a horrible feeling. Not being able to sleep because someone dug a hole in your heart and filling it only with unfulfilled wishes. I don't think only about myself. I think about my former best friend, who, I am told, lost her last cat recently. I remember that cat. When she decided to talk to me again after our second break, she got that cat. I think about the death of that cat, and I remember my friend's dog that died in front of my eyes, that terrible, dramatic death in a very undramatic setting that morning.
I think about disappointments and I think about my former best friend. I wonder if I should write to her, at least to show my condolence for the death of a common friend. But nothing will come of it. Sometimes a break is a break, permanent for no other reason than the human will.
The whole day I've been humming this song I mentioned in the earlier blog. The song my guests for the weekend and I heard at the alternative room of the Saturday milonga. One thousand steps. Now I know the lyrics, mostly in Spanish, but a few lines in French to show the dichotomy of the two people in a broken relationship. The words aren't too deep, but as a song, it made me think. When someone doesn't love you the way you love her, in the beginning, you take steps back, but you also take steps forward again. You vacillate between hope and defeat. But what happens after one thousand steps? You come to a point where you feel foolish standing there, alone, realizing, finally, that you have walked those thousand steps back and forth for nothing. She won't return. And the distance is already too large. You could only get lost trying to go back.
I am in the train again returning to my city. I thought I will have the weekend free but someone just asked if she could spend the night here. And tomorrow I will spend some time with the friend who lost her dog. I am all right with this. I like it, actually. I just hope I don't forget to spend some time for myself. This weekend I've invited people to see my new place. Sadly, probably no one from New Haven will come. Too far. Strange how two hours makes a difference. But at the same time, a lot of people I hardly know at least expressed interest in coming, congratulating me. I remember my art friend telling me that people love me. I have this charm, I guess, of making people feel good being with me. I have come to terms with the flip side of the charm: safety doesn't earn you any good girlfriends.
At least I am trying to come to terms.
Speaking of my art friend, she called me today. She misses me. I miss her too. I haven't called anyone because I've been busy. It's not just that I need time for myself, but also time to do other things with deeper meaning. A chat on the phone with someone I love is meaningful. A letter to my grandmother.
Soon I will start doing other things. The point of getting to know more of the tango people isn't to do more tango. God knows I do it too much already, four to five nights a week. I want to go to concerts, I want to see experimental art and theater. I want to live in this microcosm that seems bigger than the world around. But no rush, one step at a time. It's Friday, time to start doing some relaxation.
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