Chapter XL - Where Adele makes a comeback

I'm still here. Much time's passed and I cannot possibly get you all caught up with all that's happened.  Suffice it to say, I've relocated, gotten married, adopted another dog., separated and it's now time to go back and live with my double once again.  Without her, I'm very much not myself, I'm a lesser version of me, someone who's not quite funny,  not quite happy, someone who's just okay - and that definitely is not okay. Noelle is still here, still sweet as could be. It's time to get back on the saddle. I've had more than my share of heartbreak and enough is enough. 

Chapter XXXIX, where Adele talks about time

Danielle's the waitress's name. I asked her when she came to take my order. There's not a clock to be seen anywhere at this café - which only contributes to the feeling that time stops while I'm here.

I often dream about events that only take place a few weeks after I've had the dreams. I can see places, listen to conversations. Later, I recognize the faces of people I had never met until I look at them and remember that I've had a dream about them. Maybe time isn't linear like we think it is and it doesn't go only as far as now. I don't know what to make of the future because I can't understand what doesn't exist, what is only a dream, a plan, an expectation. Next second is something we can't reach, until it simply jumps to life out of the clock.

I woke up this morning and as I looked up at the ceiling, deciding whether to get up or stay in bed, I found myself feeling jealous of Noelle, my dog. She jumped on my face and tried to lick my cheeks, her way of asking me to get under the blankets so she can sleep a bit more. She just undertands what now is and what she remembers from the past is only enough to know I took her home and took care of her or not even that, she just remembers the little things - where she's supposed to go pee, or where her bowls are and where she keeps her little sock with which she likes to play. Everythings she wants, she wants it now. Everything's so urgent for Noelle.

It's been 11 years my sister passed away. My parents and she didn't have a good relationship and had fought and disagreed on God knows what for as long as I remember. They never stopped loving each other, but they would expect so much from the future, always postponing making amends, trusting time heals everything - give her time, she'll come around. They didn't speak for years until one day they got a phone call saying she was found dead. There wasn't really time for her coming around, was there?

So I am jealous of Noelle's capacity of missing me - the 'me' part not being important here, but the 'missing' one. It doesn't matter if for 5 minutes to take the garbage out or hours when I leave for work, and when I come back, she gets really, really happy, without realizing how long she had been missing me. It just doesn't matter. She's happy to be with me again. She'll miss me with the same intensity whenever I'm gone, unlike what happens to us. We let go too easily, we forget people as if it was supposed to happen anyway, and we rely on the passing of time to heal us and bring us surprises, which we always believe will be good ones. Because we do so, undertanding - no, realizing - that the future is nothing but a void, a blank space, it's only emptiness - is so difficult. We'd rather think future is something so promising and bright. It's like it can contain anything, it's like a million possibilities that will unveil themselves as we make choices, almost like a Pandora's box in a good sense, with only good bits, sorta. Well, it's not, as life has shown me. And whatever I want for my life, I want it now, I want it right now.

Chapter XXVIII, where Adele's double shares her thoughts

I always sit at the same table. Last time I was here (and, of course, Adele), I left my lighter on the table; the waitress returned it to me today. I warmly thanked her - I mean, it was a really warm 'thank you'. I thanked her not only for the gesture itself, but because our lives were connected for a second and I thought about the letter Adele wanted to leave here the other day. I don't know the waitress's name and I don't think she knows mine, even though I pay for coffee with my VISA. If I ask her what her name is I'm afraid I'll mess something up, or something will be lost, although I'm not sure what exactly.

I've been coming here every Monday and Wednesday for the past two months. Maybe she wonders why. She may have some weird explanations about my coming here twice a week. Maybe she doesn't think about that at all. But if she does, what do you think she thinks? Really, I'm asking. I always have books to read, this notebook and sometimes I bring my camera with me.

It's warm and sunny but there's no humidity, so it doesn't feel that hot. It's now 82F. There's something about autumn mornings (remember I live down the Equator, opposite from where Adele lives). They're silent and everything seems to stand still, almost as if time had stopped.

Text message to him: "Are you hungry?"
Text message from him: "Yes!! How'd you know?"

He's always hungry. It made me smile, almost laugh, and I felt happy for a second, ant time started 'moving' again. I wonder whether life's supposed to be made of a bunch of little moments like this - happy or sad - or whether I should expect more from life. I'm scared to think there's more to life because then I wouldn't know what I'm supposed to do to get whatever this bigger - greater - thing is.

Chapter XXXVII, in which Adele has a cup of coffee

This morning, over a cup of coffee. I'm sitting right next to the window, kind of reading a book, kind of looking out at the sidewalk, wet from rain. The sun has just come out for a second and I feel my feet getting warm inside my Adidas.

Nothing's really wrong, not terribly wrong. It's just that I feel like saying all these things that have been making breathing a little harder. I don't know what these things are so I can't shake the twilight zone-y feeling, sort of how you feel you when you're about to cry. The sort of feeling you have when you're packing to go home after a trip that has gone well, or when you're unpacking when you've just gotten home and it's empty and silent. I thought it would go away if I could cry, but, you know, it's not really something you can bring yourself to do. And there's nothing terribly wrong going on really. There isn't.

Do you ever think about how people are out there doing stuff, living their lives as if they were not connected to yours in any way? I thought I'd write a letter and just leave it here on the table for someone to find it. The person would take it home and read it while eating dinner, perhaps, and spend some five minutes wondering about who had written it and whether he'd seen me or about what I do and what it is exactly that makes myself who I am. But then it'd be more likely that the waitress would read it or that she'd keep it to return it to me next time I come for a cup of coffee, and the letter wouldn't have served its purpose. So let's just forget about the letter.

It just doesn't feel right that we let people into our lives and then just like that they're gone. I have to check time now - 9:54am - so I don't get late. Even that seems wrong; I don't really give a shit about these people I'm supposed to meet next.

I thought I'd feel better if I cried so yesterday I thought I'd take a hot shower and cry. That can be very liberating. It just got later and later and I had to go to bed so I wouldn't feel like total shit this morning, and guess what? - I do feel like shit this morning. I'm tired and weird and writing all this nonsense. I had very strange dreams last night. I had to run from red headed girls and I got to his room, number 384 or 389, but I wasn't sure you'd let me in, or whether I was still dreaming, so I hesitated for a second before I knocked. I was scared. He was there and he told me to lie next to him and go to sleep. That was very nice, thank you.

Chapter XXXVI, where Adele talks again

They say it's not a good idea to quit smoking during the holidays. Of course it's not. It's so obvious. You feel lonely, everybody has something else to do and whatever that is, it's definitely more fun than what you have to do. Even if it's staying in bed all day in your pjs and reading Paul Auster. Tea or wine. Something warm. It doesn't matter. I'm planning on getting nicotine gums and quitting smoking. Next year. And I'll have my teeth whitened, or cleaned, whatever the word is when you want those brown spots to be gone forever. They are truly disgusting, let me tell you. They make me look like a homeless crazy cat lady. And if it weren't for Noelle, I would be doomed forever. Get it? Noelle's a dog. Oh, okay, I'm not homeless either.

So, part of the plan is to quit smoking. The other part is making distances shorter. Which I'd say is the most important part of the plan, or the part of the plan that I'm really interested in, or the part of the plan that I obsessively think about. But by the time distances are actually shorter, not having to go get cigarettes would help me a lot. I'd save a lot of money, I guess. That's good. Oh yes. It's weird though. I cannot imagine myself without some smoke around me, behind which I can hide myself. You know, it's nice to see that the pack of cigarettes is there, whenever I need it. It's good to have it around. But then again, it's good to have other things around. Or people. Or this one person who lives far away. I think that's what really matters. Right? I'm so ridiculous. Embarrassingly ridiculous.

Chapter XXXV, where Adele talks about her double's thoughts

She suddenly realized she can't make decisions. She always thought she knew. Kind of like smiley happy people living in their tribes a long time ago, with their questions about life, nature, things, especially the things that had to do with nature and how natural things happen. And finding incredible answers for everything.

1. what is the best ax to kill animals we can eat? - the sharpest one, I'd say
2. if I use this thing here, will it be better than eating with my mouth? - yeah!, and let's call it 'spoon'
3. why the hell water falls from above? - it must be the doing of the god of rain, dude. Let's pray so more rain will come.

Anyway. She really has had to make some pretty tough decisions in her life. There was this drunk woman, a friend's neighbor he had never talked before with, except for the casual 'good morning' in the elevator. She ended up coming to this party we (double was there, I was there, in disguise) were having over my double's friend's. Not really a party and not really a friend. It was just a group of people discussing poetry and it was absolutely boring -and I and my double like poetry, mind you- and he was not just a friend at the time. The woman comes and tells her story: [insert the story you want, as long as it includes the words divorced, middle-aged, lonely and the fact that the only thing she *had* to do was pick up her kids at school and take them to other places, or back home]. She also took drama classes, so she could pretend to be someone else. Her youngest son, by the way, was sleeping back in her apartment (and everybody at the party and my double worried about him having been left alone). We could totally visualize a big L on the woman's forehead. Like this:

(except I didn't really imagine an L that looked like some weird leopard). If we wanted to imagine an even bigger L, all we had to do was try to imagine her naked, all the lose skin, saggy breasts, etc. All these things we shallow women care about. My double made a decision right there that she didn't want to become that woman. Ever. So she decided she didn't want to be a lawyer anymore. And I lived happily ever after. The end. Are you following the story so far?

Now she faces other difficult questions and of course she's being forced to make up her mind. You can see yourself happy in the future. Or at least the chance of being happier. But that means you have to leave your somewhat stable life behind. You:

( ) decide to go on and take the next step towards happiness;

( ) get paralyzed by fear and don't give it a shot, and you can see yourself like that character in some Clint Eastwood's movie, the one where she loves this guy but decides not to run away with him and gets stuck in her life; and when she finally decides to pursue happiness, the guy is dead, it's too late.

At some point this morning, she decided to tick the second option. She went out for cigarettes, crying and thinking and crying and thinking and feeling absolutely sad. And I could do nothing, of course. There was absolutely nothing I could do to help her. I sometimes whisper things in her head, but does she listen to me? Rarely.

After some minutes (more like hours) she came to the conclusion that she couldn't make the same kind of decisions the L-woman would make. And she changed her mind. And now she's scared.

Chapter XXXIV, where Adele thinks about love

I read something the other day. It was some girl's post about love. I think she asked what it was and I just couldn't stop thinking about it because no one dared to answer the question. So I came up with a list of possible definitions.

1. Love is


a cute little dog.
A cute little puppy that lies down on your lap and gets absolutely happy when you get home, even if you were out for lke, 5 minutes, to take out the garbage. That bring his toys to you when you cry and that licks all your face because tears are salty. That plays with a little sock just like a Mutts character. (oh, my little pink sock!). That's love.

2. Love is Paul Auster. Being totally scared sometimes, because things are pretty scary and not like, Booo!, I'm a monster that got out of your closet or hides under your bed. Not a cute fluffly blue little monster or a green one-eyed one. Worse than that. Worse than, say, having sex with a priest and becoming a headless mule. Sometimes life is just a bunch of very scary shit, if you ask me, and you decide you're going to try stuff and jump off a cliff and tadah, love saves you at the last minute. That's beautiful. Too beautiful.

3. Love is giving it another try. Because you can get fucked over by what happens in your life -big time. And then you think 'what the fuck? Why the fuck doesn't anything work out for me?'. Then you spend time mournig, hurting, and thinking 'life is so not fucking fair!', and after that you think 'okay, everything is okay now, or most of it'. Kind of like when you get hurt and have ice cream. Your favorite flavor.

4. Love for a woman or a man, I don't know about that. I think it's a mixture of please come sleep next to me + I love how you smell + take off your clothes right now! + trust (we trust that we won't get disappointed, we do get disappointed, we trust we will get over it somehow) + a lot more. We want so many things from whom we love, we demand so much, and we always want so much more. And if the person we love loves us back, we get it. Because love is giving yourself. I think that is it. Love is wishing for more, hoping; it is wanting more and more. But not always.