I cannot maintain a coherent thought today. But the day is young and the sun is out.
I was angry with myself last night and it hangs on me today like the smell of cigarette smoke. I forgot my place for a few hours. I'm smarter than that. I know my lot. I have chosen to try to make peace with myself rather than grasp at straws in life and I should honor that commitment. That's that. But still have to shake off the lingering resentment. I would rather not have seen at all--drunken Irish/Scottish certainty in my gut that God, the universe, my subconscious, something, has seriously fucked with me for no good reason but potential amusement at my expense.
My brooding was mitigated by the arrival of a postcard from Istanbul. It spoke of watching the dervishes whirl in an old railway station that had once been home to the Orient Express. Such a romantic image. Having seen the dervishes whirl in rather more mundane settings I can only imagine that it must have been quite a treat. The last line of the missive cheers me: "Istanbul is your kind of town, C." I hope I get to find out for myself.
Makes me remember the smell of sheesha tufaha being smoked in tiny, cramped ahwas in the back alleys of Cairo. The men drinking that amazing tea and playing backgammon with quiet intensity that could erupt at any moment. Hamdulilah habibi hamdulilah.
