It occurs to Don that in the future, he should avoid the break room.
The conversation could have ended. Ginsberg could have accepted the advice, given some parting words of gratitude, gathered his clothing, and headed out for the night. Even as he thinks it, Don dismisses the image, half amused and half nauseated by its absurdity. As if that were anywhere in the realm of possibility. As if Ginsberg could ever stop, ever hold back from whatever the hell it is that crowds his mind... And there's a warning again, a suggestion that Don should step out while he can, because this probably isn't going to become any smoother. Because there's no telling where Ginsberg might go. Because already, Don can feel the ground he'd gained eroding.
Nothing is certain, though. He'd entered this conversation... mostly willingly, and he can still handle it. In any case, he isn't willing to let go of it just yet. Because he feels, somewhere feels that he has words that might suit here. Because there is something of a challenge in meeting Ginsberg's questions and navigating the many pitfalls of engagement (it requires sideways thinking, forces him into drawing connections with which he's been too often out of touch). Because...
Something holds him here. Maybe it doesn't need any more analysis than that. All that it requires is words and voice. He can do that. He can.
"You aren't there anymore. You're here. And you'll have to get used to that." It's a simple statement, spoken with an accustomed measure of brusqueness. He doesn't intend it unkindly; only as a firm injunction. Lingering in the past can't do any good. (Not that blanking out the past had done much good for Don in the long run, but it had aided in its way, and perhaps there was a path between the two extremes.) What Don knows is that being present, being here is a necessity, and not only in terms of work.
Of course, being out of that place doesn't necessarily mean being freed of the thoughts. Of course he knows how the mind can play tricks, hanging on too tightly to something from the past, and causing one place to bleed into another. The key is to beat those impressions back. The key is to keep your mind clear of what has been, leaving play only for what is.
Don had discarded thoughts of Korea quickly enough, but Don had - has - also been skilled at compartmentalizing. Putting his mind in a sort of order, and never mind how that order stands now, whether it truly stands at all. Ginsberg doesn't seem to have mastered that skill or even begun to grasp its use. A month, and he still speaks, still looks fresh from overseas. (What had they seen in Vietnam? What is that war, and is it - God help them - is it somehow worse than Korea had been, somehow even more of a mess? It might only be Ginsberg. It might only be his sensitivity.)
And his words had come so quickly, so naturally. Almost as if Ginsberg has been waiting to talk about that, about the war. For a moment, Don wonders whether Ginsberg has anyone to speak with about it. He must have... Or not. So much about life remains unspoken. And it's better that way, Don still insists on believing that it's better that way (mostly, though there are times he could bend to other views times he could question his certainty on the point).
Maybe, though. Maybe there are some people who, once in a while, require outlet. (Some people. Many people. Can he deny this?) If so, Ginsberg seems a likely count for their number.
Never mind. That isn't the point here. It isn't (it can't be) anywhere for Don to enter. "You need to adjust your vision. Remember where you are.
"You need to stop thinking as if you're somewhere else."
no subject
The conversation could have ended. Ginsberg could have accepted the advice, given some parting words of gratitude, gathered his clothing, and headed out for the night. Even as he thinks it, Don dismisses the image, half amused and half nauseated by its absurdity. As if that were anywhere in the realm of possibility. As if Ginsberg could ever stop, ever hold back from whatever the hell it is that crowds his mind... And there's a warning again, a suggestion that Don should step out while he can, because this probably isn't going to become any smoother. Because there's no telling where Ginsberg might go. Because already, Don can feel the ground he'd gained eroding.
Nothing is certain, though. He'd entered this conversation... mostly willingly, and he can still handle it. In any case, he isn't willing to let go of it just yet. Because he feels, somewhere feels that he has words that might suit here. Because there is something of a challenge in meeting Ginsberg's questions and navigating the many pitfalls of engagement (it requires sideways thinking, forces him into drawing connections with which he's been too often out of touch). Because...
Something holds him here. Maybe it doesn't need any more analysis than that. All that it requires is words and voice. He can do that. He can.
"You aren't there anymore. You're here. And you'll have to get used to that." It's a simple statement, spoken with an accustomed measure of brusqueness. He doesn't intend it unkindly; only as a firm injunction. Lingering in the past can't do any good. (Not that blanking out the past had done much good for Don in the long run, but it had aided in its way, and perhaps there was a path between the two extremes.) What Don knows is that being present, being here is a necessity, and not only in terms of work.
Of course, being out of that place doesn't necessarily mean being freed of the thoughts. Of course he knows how the mind can play tricks, hanging on too tightly to something from the past, and causing one place to bleed into another. The key is to beat those impressions back. The key is to keep your mind clear of what has been, leaving play only for what is.
Don had discarded thoughts of Korea quickly enough, but Don had - has - also been skilled at compartmentalizing. Putting his mind in a sort of order, and never mind how that order stands now, whether it truly stands at all. Ginsberg doesn't seem to have mastered that skill or even begun to grasp its use. A month, and he still speaks, still looks fresh from overseas. (What had they seen in Vietnam? What is that war, and is it - God help them - is it somehow worse than Korea had been, somehow even more of a mess? It might only be Ginsberg. It might only be his sensitivity.)
And his words had come so quickly, so naturally. Almost as if Ginsberg has been waiting to talk about that, about the war. For a moment, Don wonders whether Ginsberg has anyone to speak with about it. He must have... Or not. So much about life remains unspoken. And it's better that way, Don still insists on believing that it's better that way (mostly, though there are times he could bend to other views times he could question his certainty on the point).
Maybe, though. Maybe there are some people who, once in a while, require outlet. (Some people. Many people. Can he deny this?) If so, Ginsberg seems a likely count for their number.
Never mind. That isn't the point here. It isn't (it can't be) anywhere for Don to enter. "You need to adjust your vision. Remember where you are.
"You need to stop thinking as if you're somewhere else."