Wrote on August 6, ’07 , before going to bed:
It’s the sudden silences that are the ghastliest. The vacuum at the close of a party, when you’re picking up the cups and plates. The quiet when you finally shut the television off. That sudden plunge to being alone.
It’s going to be different now. In Beijing, I was in a dormitory, and though there wasn’t much movement in the building itself (didn’t even know that Jo lived on the same floor as me until she moved out to her own flat and I met her!), my closest friends in BJ lived on campus or just a bit out of it. In Sydney, there was College (with its open-door policy, haha!).
Having your own flat is quiet. Unmoving. And I’ve forgotten (yet again) how to eat dinners alone. I have been very much spoiled by my friends. It’s a conspiracy, I say.
Well. Another city, another place to stay.
And I have finished that story I had been talking about in an earlier entry. Finished it before I left for Hong Kong.
The chauffeur seemed surprised that she had left before the concert was over and asked how it had gone. Dr. Hjelmkov didn’t answer. She kept looking at the streaks of light outside the car, her lips twisted in what seemed to him to be anguish.
It’s a wonderfully boring excerpt, but then this story is one of my least baroque ones. Surprisingly.