Sunday was a long day. Saw the diamond. It’s diamond-y. (no photography allowed, which makes sense I guess. The museum is essentially an old department store with mannequins dressed in 19th costumes ogling fake diamonds.) I took the journal with me. No new clue.
Based on the symbol in the front of this journal (Psyche) we’ve all assumed it’s triggered by different emotional states. So I’ve figured out (assumed) I’m supposed to find these objects and while somewhere near them have a specific emotional response? The latest clue is “where Archemedes’ cry shines brightest through its adoring cut.” Which means I have to feel what, either revelation (Eureka!) or adoration? Infatuation? Love? I mean, I’m not really a diamond girl, so… Blurgh. This all feels a bit like a parent’s emotional manipulation from beyond the grave.
Revelation is something I feel pretty regularly but if it’s love or adoration I’m supposed to feel, I might need to start looking at local real estate. The closest I’ve felt to any of that is, well… I won’t be vagueblogging today, you’ve all had front row seats to that story.
I mean, yes, there are feels and loads of them, both simple and complicated. And that’s the problem! Two people who want (for a lot of reasons) something simple, uncomplicated, transparent, but we’re separated by a complicated morass of secrets and lies and magic and mountains (and mountaineers), and to get back to each other we have to wade into that world again, and wading into that world sometimes feels like drowning. To ask that of him, to come back to the girl with the spell and the father and the past and the road ahead of her feels cruel. It feels like I’m reaching out for help only to drag him under with me.
I’ve imagined the night I found out everything going a hundred different ways instead of me stumbling away like I’d just climbed out of a car crash. But I didn’t. And I don’t know if I could’ve done anything else.
So I’m here in Kimberely with the diamond and the mannequins and the empty mine. Revelations yes, but anything else… Maybe I’m not that girl.