Wednesday, April 3
Auo’s old room, 17:52
Yesterday Cata, one of Irma’s oldest friends, called by a suitably odd story. A friend of hers now works at the school which Auo attended. The school has found Auo’s travel diary but doesn’t know what to do with it. They think they shouldn’t contact us.
This morning Irma arranged to collect it.
I spent the morning interviewing candidates for Arcada’s MA in Media Management. I also learned that the Fulbright Foundation had declined to fund me to spend two months in Lubbuck, Texas.
I spent the afternoon recording another four videos, each about seven minutes, for the forthcoming Interactive Storytelling course.
I spent the journey home listening to Paul McCartney’s Egypt Station which seemed much better than the critics had implied.
When I get home I look at Auo’s diary from the last year of her life. I feel glad that we have it. I photograph it: a handmade book that she bought in the Tibetan shop on Lighthouse Beach. It contains notes about the trip to Nepal that she made later with Irma.
We will talk about the madness of our lives, and then we will watch Sunshine and the huge ginger cat in our garden, deciding whether to fight or not.
They will strike poses while avoiding any actual combat. I will suspect that we could find a lesson there somewhere if we looked hard enough.
I will realise later than I may now have to live the kind of life in which I never get to visit the Buddy Holly museum.
Damn those Fulbrighters!