HALF INSIDE HALF OUTSIDE (# 74,923)

My legs are warm, my head and hands are not. I write leaning out of a french door at 23.04 in the dark barely able to see the keys. Straddling the border of man’s shelter I wonder whether I’d feel the same lying across two counties, two countries ore even two continents. Maybe my belly would be snared in barbed wire.

I switch so that the legs are outside and the torso inside. It’s easier with cold feet. My gut wrenches on the  aluminium threshold but it’s still like cotton wool compared to a national border.

Finally I sit astride the door opening. One ear cold, one warm. A vertical halfway seat.

The experiment is over. Nothing written. Nothing taught. Nothing learned. Time to sleep into heavy revision.

August 18, 2010
Filed Under Writing on writing 

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