My depression subsided a bit as soon as Albertine dumped me. I drew a hot bath and sat in it, watching sitcoms and reading books about democracy until the hot water induced sweat and thirst. I got as low as I could in the water, a rim of suds ringed my face, and I stared at the ceiling. I felt enervated. I felt as if I would never walk again. I thought about my free standing, clawfoot tub, and wondered how much it, and the water, and my body weighed together. I waited for us to crash through the floor, and as I sat, looking at the ceiling, I had the impression of that ring of water around my face, the ellipse of the shower curtain rod framing the ceiling, little shower curtain rings holding the shower. But all I though about was, “wow, what a lot of rings.” For the moment, I did not worry about outcomes, would she won’t shes, sexual theatrics and conversation inhibitions. This hadn’t happened in several days.
The water was cold.
When I got up, I decided I would like to throw the I Ching. Some people use the I Ching as some sort of soothsaying device. Others simply use the book for Taoist guidance. I think Carl Jung might have said that tools like the I Ching help us clarify our range of choice, help us filter the course of actions we will or won’t be pursuing, like a more advance version of the toincoss where, when you don’t get the result you were looking for, so you simply flip again. Whenever I’m done pinning all my hopes for a future of conventional domestic bliss on someone who ends up not being worth the daydreaming effort, I feel rudderless. All of a sudden, I’ve got all of this time to think, and nothing to think about. I throw the I Ching.
It tells me I have Great Power. I smile. We'll see how this goes.
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