eavesdropped conversation.

I’ve been doing so much freewriting lately that I start to worry I’ll never be able to make a thing whole. I worry that all I have in me is a lifetime of rambling and abstract thought. I worry that the more I try to actually finish something, the less capable I’ll be. But I also know that those fears mean that I’m on the right trail.

Last night, J and I went to a reading at Politics & Prose, Scott Timberg on his new book, Culture Crash: The Killing of the Creative Class. I have a swirl of thoughts on his talk and on the subject of the book, enough that I can’t seem to sort them out just yet. It’s important stuff. But after the reading, we wandered down the street to look for dinner. We passed a middle-aged man and an older woman, I guessed his mother, having a disagreement. It was immediately clear that there was some mental illness in the mix of the heated conversation. I couldn’t follow the whole thing, so I don’t even know what the argument was about. Whatever it was, he was yelling and begging her to just come home with him. At some point, I have your credit cards, you dumb bitch, hit my ears and I bristled.

We stepped into a restaurant, but there was a 45 minute wait for a table, so we headed back to the street, finally deciding we’d just drive home. We passed them again, the same conversation, the same elevated voices, almost frozen in time. We stopped in the CVS on the corner and the older woman walked in behind us, followed by the man, still screeching, Just come home with me!

We stood in line for a minute or two at CVS, listening to this weird scene repeat itself in the store. Adding to the bizarreness, the handful of other people standing in line all seemed drunk. At one point I turned to J and said, What the fuck is going on here?

But it all melted away. The drunk friendly people in line bought there candy bars and beer and left. The screaming pair left CVS and went back to the street. I bought a tube of mascara and we walked to our parked car and drove back across town.

And all I can think about tonight is where all those people are, twenty-four hours later, what houses or restaurants or bars they’re sitting in, and if their worlds feel upside down or if they feel right. Otherwise, life goes on for all of us.

I can’t stop listening to this song. In fact, I can’t seem to physically stop myself from listening to it on repeat for at least a few rounds a day, and I’ve been doing that for a week. I’m listening to it right now.