I miss the simple pleasure of corners and the luxury they can afford. I want to undo all of last year and unknow what I have come to know and everybody that has come with it. I am doing One Hundred Years of Solitude for a class. I picked up the book just now to see what I remember from having read it all those years ago. I have no memory of anything, as it turns out.
There’s only the memory of an echo coming from the pit of my stomach. It’s like reading a part of me that has died and become something else. I don’t remember One Hundred Years of Solitude. I remember what I was like when I read it 2 years ago. I was stupider and I don’t want to go back into being that. I do however want to go back to the evenings spent reading this book in a corner of the old department.
I miss how the evenings would stretch themselves out for me and the corners would hug me to its walls. Everywhere else there would be voices, and water in plenty– gushing at my ankles and hurting my ears so I would put my feet up. The only discomfort I ever felt would be from a position I was sitting for too long in. This is hardly romantic because knowing me, I can say there would have been a hundred odd things pecking at me from the inside and the outside. Things people said, things people did, things I should have said, things I should have done. But it’s ok I suppose. As long as I was far from being noticed.
I miss the corner for what it did best. Allowed a certain kind of space in which I could devote time to things that actually mattered, like plucking skin and corns off of my toe, undoing knots in my hair, contemplating over the colour yellow and wondering why my right boob is smaller than my left. The corner does what a sharp tongue also does very well – ward off people.
Two’s company, three’s crowd. Well, they are both my ass. Corners are dangerous to nourish conversations in. They become snake-like hisses that will come back and bite one in the arse. I am through with this. I want my corner back. I think a woman must have good earplugs and a corner if she is to write or read fiction.