18 August 2007

27 holliday street
the heights, ----------, 2005



my dearest bert,

it seems so long since i have last written to you, and even longer since i have heard from you, but the calender tells me otherwise--really only a few weeks [!]. it seems like longer because so much has happened. perhaps unfortunately for you, and my inkpen, i thought that you should hear all about my adventures, seeing as i owe you a letter anyway. i shouldnt like to keep you waiting any longer. i shall tell you everything i have been doing, and then you can tell me to stop talking, or, rather, i fully leave in your hands the option to stop reading. you know. afterward, you may tell me the same.
lately, i have been meeting up with all sorts of people that i am aquainted with, at work and such. but only half-aquainted, you understand. people that i know, but not enough to talk to or anything. and sometimes they forget they know me as well, even though they may look at me like they should know me. this produces awkward uncertainty about which course of action to take. shall i re-introduce myself and cause potential embarrassent? shall i carry on the conversation in my head so as to avoid causing that embarrassment, and still prove to myself i know their names and their boyfriends names and how long they have in fact been engaged, and when they are getting married, despite the fact they cant exactly remember if they know me at all. i dont know. perhaps im too unkind.
also, ive been feeling rather discouraged with myself of late. for example, if i was going to finish all the books i purposed to finish this summer, i should have to read four a day if i were going to finish them by the time i resume my studies. more over, there are quite a few things i would change about myself and i should know how and i should be able to, but i dont know if i am. i always feel like such a naughty dimwit when im with half the people i know. and when i read your letters i feel like a...a nincompoop. you know, someone did call me that once, and im not sure that i even fully recovered. im not even entirely sure what its supposed to mean. although, i laughed at the time. and im chuckling even now, for its such a funny word. yes, i do suppose i do appreciate the comment for its comedic value, for it was rather humorous.
in all the time we have been corresponding, i dont believe i have been to the eye doctor yet. well, today i managed to make it there. and i nearly fainted for the first time in my life, and i didnt bring my smelling salts. i have never fainted in all my born days, so i wasnt expecting such. the doctor dialated my eyes, as per normal procedure, and i got tingly all over, and very dizzy, and my ears were ringing very loudly. the doctor continued talking, but that was a blur and i guess when i didnt answer him, [i think i said uhhuh.] but i think i told him my ears were ringing. he sent in a nurse, who checked my blood pressure 3 times cause she couldnt believe her readings [she was getting 70/40 at the best one] and so she ran and grabbed another nurse, and three came and they were slightly frantic for a minute because i guess 70/40 is no good. but then it was 120/60 so they made me drink water and put my head down till later. but the good news is that i had none of the normal side effects from the dialation--no trouble with reading, or sensitivity to light--just the almost fainting. im passive-aggressive, you see. i told my mother not to make me go.
how interesting to think that all the time ive just spent writing this letter really doesnt matter. this paper will last only as long as it takes to burn, or decay. these thoughts are mortal; they are yours and mine only as long as you choose to keep them, and im sure that they are unoriginal at best. its strange how the most important things are sometimes not really important at all. faith hope and charity, for example, and, i should say, love. these are the greatest, and of these, love is the the best. but love too shall pass away--love is not the most important thing in life--outside, of course, of the one who loves completely. but that is a different subject altogether. love is the greatest of the greatest, yet we see the greatest of these becoming the least once again. there are things greater, and more magical than we can fathom. love is unfathomable, but closer to understanding than all the rest, you see. fascinating, new, unexpected--indeed. but also: just as he said it would be. and in the meantime, we shall bungle up loving as best as we are able, i suppose, for we are not so great as it as we ought to be.
mortal thoughts or not, though, i dont suppose we shall let the postman find himself without a job, now, should we?

always--
your jules

Posted 8/18/2005 10:31 PM