The lawn is cut, for the first time in two years. Something has been gained in its reduction. As if it were weighing on me, somehow a difficulty, as if because I’m used to short grass, to see long grass is only a reminder of what I’m not doing, or haven’t done. Even though I prefer long grass.

I feel relieved.


Yesterday my sister was married. I gave a speech, and it went well, better than I could have hoped.

In the early morning, when I’d finished working on the speech, I wasn’t entirely confident. I didn’t know the kinds of things said at weddings, I didn’t know what role to take. I wrote something—maybe too sincere. Maybe too sentimental. Despite this, I visualized the result: my aunt congratulating me, my sister.

During the course of the reception I realized that what I’d written wasn’t appropriate: not because of its content, but because of its tone. I gave the speech, changing it without once referring to my notes.

Afterwards, my heart was racing. I ate quickly, but without really eating. I didn’t finish. I thought of saying, to someone who’d given a speech at her brother’s wedding a week earlier, “You couldn’t eat before you gave the speech, now I can’t eat afterwards.” But I didn’t.

As soon as the speeches portion of the night was over, I went outside. I walked for a long time, until my heart calmed down and I felt I could return. I stood for a while and looked at the Toronto skyline, visible across the water, somehow a hyperreal image, as if it were the background in a movie, constantly projected, manipulated. There was a vantage point closer to the event, but I wanted to be alone.

I returned to the party. When I looked back towards the water, someone else was coming out to look out at the view.

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