Winter

 

December 21, 2022

If winter come . . . .

Watched The Banshees of Inisherin. It’s about friendship and the end of it. You think that because it’s more casual and less needy than love that friendship need not die dramatically. But, sometimes it does. An ending to it seems more cruel, because the commitment had been less intense, and trespasses more easily forgivable. Z made up a story of how he was cutting back on his business and would not be accepting new appointments. I assumed there was more to it than that, but went along. Research reveals that he hasn’t cut back on his activities at all, but needed a gentle way to get rid of me. He was right. It was gentle. I think he could have just said, “I don’t want to see you anymore,” but my testimony for candor in this case is probably insincere. He expended effort getting away from me without making a big deal of it, and I’m grateful. I think back on T, who for twenty years was the most important person in my life. He started to change tables when we met at the café, or asked me to leave if Wind came in and they needed to talk “business.” The business was how to sell their idiotic film scripts. The last time I saw him was in the early days of the pandemic. It was in the post office, and he said, “You want to get together sometime?” “Yes” “Ok, I’ll call you.” Never did. Nor did I call him. He made very clear that I was no longer his preferred company. By the time it happened, the relationship was ready to fade. We used the same gesture of rejection each to our own ends. 

Redid an old painting. Light comes through it like stained glass.