/dehydrate/incohate/

a. strange. night. indeed.

restless and listless (still lackluster) i hung up the phone. tried to cry, couldn't. no water left in me. i went outside on the porch with my jam jar of sweet cold water and watched the dirty twilit sky revolving westerly. the streets dim. my heart and my eyes, dim. the pearling near-full moon dropping from one end of the roof looking at me like it knew me. knew what i was thinking.

and so i went to bed mildly early. still restless. little did i know. the entire time i was living in brazil.

woke at 2:30 am to unfocused dreams of leading antony around a party with my old high school friends. and sitting him with a group and then having to leave. but leading him by the hand the whole time and yes (power of suggestion) an indistinct face. there is more more more to the dream that was ruffled rudely out of me when i awoke to a piercing

beep

which was the fire alarm on the ceiling complaining of a low battery. i tried to ignore it. i couldn't. it was beating my eardrums, startling me awake every thirty interminable seconds. i turned on the light. i was dizzy, unawake. i dragged a chair in and reached up and tried to pull it out but it was attached firmly. i wandered barefoot into the living room to see if there was a socket in the ceiling from the other one we ripped out weeks ago, so i could see how to take it out. no sign of anything.

returned to bedroom. tugged and tugged and had wild thoughts that maybe it was connected to an alarm circuit (like on airplanes) and i would set off a real alarm if i succeeded in wrenching it free. which i did. and it didn't go off.

with sleepy effort i managed to yank out the old battery. discovered in dismay that it still beeps without the battery, albeit faintly. buried it under a cushion in the faraway living room and left the battery on the table and went back to bed. could not fall asleep. kept hearing somebody's voice in my ear. realizing he might actually have been up at that hour. strange. vague faraway voice finally put me to sleep, still restless, clutching a knot of blanket that was definitely not a hand.

and this morning, to further my brazil experience, the water went strange in the shower. in fits and spurts it would have greater or lesser pressure. scalding to lukewarm. also the toilet made funny noises, and is apparently unhappy with new brand of toilet paper. the apartment is rebelling back at me. what are these signs? what am i given to understand?

i left the house thinking: i forgot something. i forgot something. feeling that hole slowly forging underneath my heart.

a loose construction helmet

i had to help margaret just now with putting out billowing white paper tablecloths on the tables outside in the spot between the construction site and the other building. we picked through the rubble of paving stones and twisted rebar and there were unfilled pits everywhere. slowly i looked around and realized that among the tall stacks of marble flagstones for the lobby there was an elaborately large barbecue grill, several in fact, and a lengthy banquet table covered in hot dishes. the sun was glaring and dusty and my hat was too loose and kept slipping off to the side, crushing my right ear. i must have looked ridiculous.

we set down all the mats, and the catering kids helped us. a friendly dark-haired guy with funny eyebrows and interesting shoes kept placing the chairs over where i was, finding excuses to say funny things in my direction. i laughed back. the young tan girl with them was also nice. so interesting to be among these strong people outside in the sun, serving vital things to hungry men at lunchtimes. was momentarily sickened to see that margaret and i were the only women doing this in the vicinity, all the men were off carting wheelbarrows of slag and broken pavement, or up on ladders wiring the trees for lights. i felt (as usual?) distant and disconnected from the scene.

there is not enough shade out there. eating greasy outdoor food with a lot of men who will look at me sounds like hell. i won't go.

sad and sadder, dark-haired guy and the tan girl (with her pink shirt and shoes) are the only people, my age that i've seen in a long time, in this building (not counting eireann, or bagel-shop kids). perhaps that is why he was so friendly like that, knowing the proceeding hours would be full of the adult element, the sweat and breath and appetite of men who work with their muscles all day long in the hot sun, in those ridiculous hard hats that just make me feel even more vulnerable, to noises echoing.

why am i working here? i wonder sometimes, at my blind momentum.