Monday, July 21, 2008
And sometimes I'm so envious of it.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
writing from an old laptop, brought back from the dead
It’s almost cruel to find this machine after a two year absence. To discover old pictures, letters, wedding plans, invitation lists, written routines of a baby, and proof of life together – remnants of myself I’d banished to deeper spaces.
I’m still in shock at how fat I was. I mentioned my 25kg weight loss to someone yesterday and the figure seemed exaggerated. I can see now that it was not.
My son is so tall now. Half my height. And speaks to me like a little man. His expressions are raw and unaffected by his surroundings. We’ve been watching movies of him as a babe. The images reinforce a version of him that has morphed into his present form, which seems so sophisticated now.
I crave more children. I sense them in my cells but as I write here in my house, alone, a cigarette in my mouth as I type, I don’t know when or whether they will come, and for this reason I’m glad that I already have one. I still smoke in halves.
It’s cold outside. I search for a song that can eloquently express my insides yet everything seems too familiar and I’m infatuated by letters from a new man. Funny letters featuring obscure lists, favourite words and new discoveries. We met last week to share gin and a six hour conversation but he’s since disappeared into the stress of a phD and I don’t know whether he will return. He’s online now and I sit, wondering whether I still capture any of his thoughts. And whether we’ll ever kiss.
I check my gmail, hotmail, yahoo, work mail, facebook, myspace and that dating website and nothing has changed.
And it’s time to give him a bath, to read him five stories before bed and to then return here, to work and prepare for a new week.