I was on my second solo-weekend in the Bigger City as per the new ‘rules’ in Jon’s and my marriage. I was beginning to regret it, though.
I felt good about it – no doubt! – but the goodness – like the food and wine – and even the freedom to think, all of which I had yearned for … it was as if something still didn’t click, still didn’t feel enough.
And for that reason alone I was spending this evening alone with a bottle of white wine, counting the lights on the Strip outside the hotel room window.
When I could have been anywhere else, with anybody else.
When the hell am I going to be satisfied?
I chuckle, at myself, when I become aware that I’m bitching about this … but there is no joy in any sounds I can make right now. Laughter, chuckling, or just being silent. It is all as if a cold, empty feeling is growing and infects all of me, and all the sound I am able to make or not make.
And the worst is that if only I could say with definiteness that there was NO goodness or NO good food or good wine (all which was a damn unselfish gift from Jon combined with hours of my own slaving in order to save for it) …
If only I could say that I had found out that I hated the freedom and the long hours of uneasiness when I suddenly become aware that I have full control over my own thoughts. I don’t have to distract myself, to be or do something for someone else – to make the family hold together or to hold myself together at work. I am… free.
If only I could say I had not been able to handle that …
But no. Everything is perfect. Really. Goddamn perfect.
So what has crept up on me? What has gently pushed my attention towards some misty darkness between the lights of the Strip, something that seems to pop up in my mind more and more often now as the evening wears on?
Perhaps it comes because I am secretly looking for it? I should drink more wine. Or go find a bit more … goodness to tell Jon about.
It was after all the ultimate freedom, he gave me – to be used. And born of bitter experience – about what it really means to raise children when you weren’t always ready – about swanky and self-confident Juliana from Jon’s station – about that idiotic getaway as a stewardess – and about crazy but very strong urges to stay in an airport in Morocco even if I am about to cry every time I think of Emma and Michael.
That’s why I didn’t do it. I couldn’t ever leave them. But have I left myself … somewhere?
So yeah, I was bored and I locked myself in the hotel room and surfed and surfed and surfed. What else to do? TV was all about Trump …
Then I came across the article:
Maybe it was someone who shared it and I clicked. I don’t know – okay? But I am easy to distract, especially in situations like this when I want to be distracted.
I read again:
Our universe …
shares space with a large number of other universes …
particles in our universe feel a subtle push from corresponding particles in all the other universes …
These other worlds are mostly invisible because they only interact with ours under very strict conditions, and only in very minute ways …
via a force acting between similar particles in different universes …
One way to think about it is that they coexist in the same space as our universe, like ghost universes …
Ghostly universes that are not parallel to ours but PART of our own universe.
Which may look and feel like ours and be vastly different in some cases.
They are here – now – right beside us, only a little bit removed.
Weaving in and out of our reality, like misty vapors, but if we could see them from their perspective WE would be those misty vapors – very close, and yet far away.
That’s how I – try to – understand it anyway. Never was much of a physicist.
Anyway, so this is an insane but certified theory of more – infinitely more – universes crammed into the same box …
But the gist is this: The universe could be like the hall of mirrors, only every distortion, every variation takes place in a part of the same mirror. Everything that could have happened and could not.
It’s out there. So close.
And so I began to think of Lin again, after at least 5 years of willing myself not to think of her.
What if my dearest dead friend still existed in another universe in the same space as ours? Continue reading