digital dictation. tepid green tea. long lunches. promotions. wedding proofs. images that collect my thoughts around them like dust. i have mountains of paper and hours of words to cross through with red pens. ink building muted paths on my finger tips that somehow find their way also to my shirt sleeves leaving me with saturdays full of laundry to do. the whirr of the washing machine and the steady bang as it hits the spin cycle.

my home is overflowing now with signs of life. but i have a habit of leaving my belongings at other people's houses. little pieces of myself inadvertently strewn in a corner, across the back of a lounge suite, underneath the table. my dad finds natural yoghurt with mixed berries in his fridge that i bought last night on the way to my parents' place and left in the fridge during my stay. he tells me he will drop it off tonight and i am happy for any excuse to see him. life is different now. not better or worse. just beautiful in new ways.

we are enjoying the company of two and the comfort of our own space. but there is something to be said for time with family. tonight it is all sorts of antipasti and pizza at his parents' house. his 81 year old nonna goes to italy tomorrow for 7 months. we bought her slippers. a parting gift that will live in the closet of her top floor apartment in the old village during the summer months, awaiting the december cold. they are brown. lamb skin. warm. every comfort you could hope for from a shoe. she will find some fault in the stitching or the soles. perhaps the colour is off or the wool not quite fluffy enough. she will love them in secret but she will always find fault. no matter. it is just her way.

i am learning to live without qualifying my love for myself, without responding to a compliment with a self-deprecating remark. it is easier said than done. but i have help now. we laid in bed this morning for fifteen minutes longer than we should have, my head on his chest and ribs pressed against his side. he is always warm and safe, telling me the things i need to hear. the things i should believe more. he lets me cry in front of him as we drive home in the darkness and doesn't pry. he knows there is pain here which is not always justified. he doesn't understand. he doesn't pretend to. but he listens and loves. and that is enough.

06/21/2006

Posted on 06/21/2006
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