Sylvia

Sylvia is still very young here and has yet to appreciate that one can be a writer without being a novelist.

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It seems to me more than ever that I am a victim of introspection. If I have not the power to put myself in the place of other people, but must be continually burrowing inward, I shall never be the magnanimous creative person I wish to be.

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But I must discipline myself. I must be imaginative and create plots, knit motives, probe dialogue - rather than merely trying to record descriptions and sensations.

-- Sylvia Plath, Journals 1950-53

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Sugar Dreams

I have had a couple of dreams of Sugar over the past couple of nights. It had been years since the last one. My first dream, on the night before last, was very cold blooded. We seem to be in a library. Besides shelves of books, there are a number of tables where people are seated, including her and a fellow. The guy could be Greg, but he did not really look like him. I am not with them. However, I go to their table to ask a question, which is obviously meant for Sugar, but since I know she does not want to talk to me, I make as though I am asking him, and Sugar looks at him and answers the question as though he was the one who asked it and I was a ghost that she cannot see or hear. The question, incidentally, was something like, "What does 'electoral overload' mean?" It was a clear but odd question that seems ultimately senseless - some lazy dream-making. After she answers him, I scoot away to look through books at a shelf, feeling the chill of that cold shoulder.

The dream last night takes an entirely different direction. I seem to be sitting on the sidewalk near a fairly busy intersection. All of a sudden, Sugar comes and sits down next to me. I do not say anything, as though I still assume that she does not want to talk to me. However, as she sits next to me, practically making contact, I am physically aching to touch her. Then, she moves her foot over to hook my foot with hers, and she just rubs my foot that way. There is no flesh-contact; we are both wearing shoes; yet I am melting in desire. She seems to be feeling something of this anguish in herself. The dream ends there.

As it so happens, in real life, I just quit going to her Twitter, quit cold turkey, about two or three weeks ago. Seeing how the last edifice of my e-life has crumbled, I thought that it might be a good time to let that go as well. Maybe this helped to fuel the dreams, the last flush of fever before there is nothing, as the last of my e-delusions clears from my system.

Quote

"It is the curse of immortality to see those you care for die."

-- Elizbeth Cook, "Achilles"

I can feel some of the force of this when I think about our cats and dogs, the short-lived pets that we come to love.