Dear K-
Time keeps progressing onward. It doesn’t quite feel as if it is sailing by me, like some lightweight clipper, but rather like a steadily chugging ocean liner. When viewed at the horizon it hardly seems to be moving at all, but in actuality it is persistently pressing onward at a respectable pace. Working 7 to 6 every day, I don’t get a lot of time to sit and reflect upon my days. I move from one day to the next, trying to find small events to motivate me through the weeks. My days are spent looking at people’s eyes, which I guess isn’t too much to complain about since that is the career path I settled upon. Eyes are beautiful. But now, when I try to relax, I still find myself noticing the slight amblyopia of an actor in the movie on the television, or I try to guess the eyeglass frame my old friend is wearing on her trip home from college. It’s the first thing I notice. I don’t even think about how long it has been since we’ve spoken and caught up on each other’s lives. Instead, I think about her -3.25 OD and -3.75 -0.50 167 OS prescription. I wonder if I’m losing myself.
At times, I miss the student’s life and I find myself picking up old text books for my night reading. Of course, spending each night reading Remington’s “Clinical Anatomy of the Visual System” doesn’t really compare to your Marquez and it doesn’t lead to very entertaining dreams, but it keeps me focused on the present. It’s somewhat depressing to admit that your life isn’t the makings of some great novel. We’ve written bits of ourselves into so many of our short stories, poems, novels…But, as you stated, those are merely characters. They get to progress through the bodies of text and find neat little solutions and tidy situations which circle around to make some point. Our lives, unlike fiction, don’t necessarily have to make sense. Reality is quite a bit messier, and not always so eloquent.
It’s been over a month since I’ve seen my love. I regret to admit that with each day that passes without his presence my heart grows gradually more remote. While I adore companionship, I’ve spent the majority of my life alone. Left to my own devices, I revert to an independent lifestyle. My heart grows cold and dormant, and I think of him less and less. It’s hard to remember his voice. For the moment, I still miss him. I am not the type of girl who will make demands, but regrettably I am the type passive enough to let a good thing fade away through disregard and cowardice. I hate getting sentimental. I’d rather focus on things more useful and meaningful, like chemical reactions, trains, or iambic pentameter.
Tomorrow I fly to Phoenix alone. I’ll switch to the more personable, extroverted facet of my personality, the portion which has been trained and practiced over the years and is usually recessive, by my choice. Smiling and responding to interview questions with comprehensive, intelligent quips, dressed in a suit and maintaining an air of confidence…it’s an exhausting routine. I enjoy the experience, but when I go home at the end of the day I’m self-critical and weak. Perhaps it will be different in the dry desert air. Maybe it will be good to get out of the Midwest again.
I’ve started writing letters again.
I love the way the air feels this time of year.
Yours truly,
-K
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