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Description | Nov 22 2004

I don’t know what to compare it to. I think if I knew, it would be different from what it is. The comparison would change it.

This reminds of me of how to make a headache disappear. I’m not making this up. You describe the headache—its shape, color, and location—then you estimate how much water it can hold. You answer each question in turn, looking carefully. Then you return to the first question.

What happens is, your answers change each time through. I think this is because your headache changes. Or maybe it’s the other way around: your headache changes because your answers change. In any case there comes a point at which there’s nothing left to change because at that point the headache is gone, you’ve described it out of existence.

I suppose I could tell a story about it. The story wouldn’t be about it, but about something that has happened because of it. I wouldn’t say what this something is—just what happened. It would be like making a mold from it. The mold would be the story.

Right now it’s shaped like a giant exercise ball. It’s as blue as the blue in her eyes and it’s wedged in the bathtub. It’s as wide as the bathtub and can hold enough water—just enough—to drown in.