Voyage of the Darned

Saturday afternoon (February 23rd) I went to the Center for Puppetry Arts to pick up an application for this year's Xperimental Puppetry Theater, which is at the end of May. I did an XPT project in 1997 that I was really proud of, but for some reason I've never tried hard to do another one.

This year I have a really good idea, so I wanted to get the application and then knock their socks off with my proposal.

But it turns out the application deadline was: Saturday, February 23rd. Shit! The guy at the ticket office told me no one else had returned an application yet, so I'm still going to pound it out this morning and run over to the Center with it at lunchtime. They'll probably accept it, but I won't have a script ready, which diminishes my chances of being selected. Shit!

In other news, I ran twelve miles yesterday. The last mile was really hard, but I recited my mantra and got through it. And my ankle tendinitis didn't bother me at all. I now feel secure enough in my training to go ahead and register for Cincinnati's Flying Pig Marathon. That's the first weekend in May.

We fell. It seemed like we were constantly falling, or being lifted. This time we fell into water, and this also was not unusual.

As I sank into the cool water, I looked around for my mate. I didn't see him, but it was a big room and there were many, many others in it with us. Some of the others were like us, others vastly different, but only my mate, my twin, was exactly like me. I had a brief moment of panic, but reassured myself: we'd be reunited soon enough. After all, we belonged to each other. We'd been together since the beginning and would remain together until the end. Who could doubt that? No one, of course. These temporary separations were nothing to be concerned about.

I felt foolish whenever I had those panic attacks. None of the others ever seemed to have them, but then many of them weren't pairs like my mate and I. They didn't understand what it's like to have your whole identity bound up into someone else's so inextricably. I couldn't imagine life as a singleton, nor did I even want to. My mate, my partner, was the other half of my soul. I was nothing without him.

The water began to swirl clockwise, or counter-clockwise (how would I know?) and we all swam our laps. The water never heated up. It never does for those of us of color. We don't mind. It's still a nice, relaxing break from our regular existence.

Later, after the water drained away, we lay in the bottom for a while, waiting. I finally saw my mate across the way, but couldn't get to him through the crowd. I didn't need to; just seeing him there calmed the butterflies somewhat. Was I too insecure? Who could say? I didn't know how to be any other way.