Tonight I listen to the rain tip-tapping on the skylights, and to this song on a loop.
Mister modo & ugly mac beer – Safe in sound (don’t be put off by the weird name, it is in fact a beautiful chill-out number)
I am curled on the sofa, staring into space at the amaryllis overhead, too tired to move. It has been another busy weekend. In fact, being perpetually brimming, demanding my attention, my energy, and keeping me on the edge of too much, seem to be chronic characteristics of my life.
I’m not complaining. To an extent, this is the way I like it, and this is the way I make it. Still, sometimes I wonder: How much of this frantic activity is to avoid surprises like noticing strands of grey in my hair (what is going here, obviously a mistake, I don’t remember ordering those), the empty other half of the bed, or the way so many friends are currently facing the illness or the loss of one of their parent? How much of it is a distraction from thinking, from facing the universal fears that set us apart from, say being zoo-plankton?
The fact is that I am not unhappy. I am not deliriously-woop-woop happy either, but I’m ok. I love my children and think they are so amazing, I cannot possibly have made them. Eighteen months on, I still actively dislike my ex T, but I’m hoping this too will eventually get better. I have a lot of work at work, meals to cook, laundry to fold and tomatoes to stake at home, a lot of friends, a good life and two very, very tight shoulders.
I guess I just wish someone would be there to rub them tonight.