And, finally in my hotel room, I break a glass β stupidly moving a tray with glasses from one shelf to another, with my usually shaky hands these days, which is obviously a bad idea take the damned glasses off first. I look at shards of glass across the small entryway, call the sweet but somewhat at-a-loss guy at the desk β he seems scattered, unable to deal; an hour later I go downstairs looking stern. He is indeed sweet but is standing in for the regular staff, as they are all away at a general dinner at a restaurant across town.
Which raises the question: mental, emotional resilience, in relation to physical resilience? A good, a real question: I am at times not resilient at all giving up easily, despairing, retreating and at others rather overly tough-minded.
When I leave, I am tired: back to the room, which is okay though not wonderful, and rather overheatedβ¦ the bed soft but unfamiliar. I wake in the night, hot, a bit breathless. Going to the bathroom, some mild vertigo β I hold onto things, maintain upright stance with difficulty. Open a window, some fresh airβ¦. And I find myself thinking: I want to ask V.
So here I shall writeβ¦. Giving up, feeling one can no longer move forward. Or, really, move: A. It is of course usual for me I tell the V. A good question in this hotel room: I know in the past that hotel rooms can be places where one retreats from being tired, from too much unaccustomed wine and heat and airlessness, to live in a hazy space between sleeping and waking.
I want an answer, from this V. Not awful perhaps, but not something to be accelerated, it will come soon enough.
