Friday, 1 June 2012

new house

Yesterday there was one moment when the boys were off with the van seeking out fridges and I was alone in our new house, on the swingseat, in the garden, listening to rain pattering on the shade above my head. It was the moment when things were happy and I decided there will be good things in this flat, more words.

I’ve been quiet of late; I’ve called myself busy. Flats jobs life bleh. Though there’s also that none of that matters if I’m not awash with words, because really it doesn’t. Treading water, cycling on the runway into an epic headwind.

We moved the percolator before we moved ourselves and that makes things difficult—without coffee I approach the day like a drunken floozy in a hall of mirrors. I will walk to the kitchen now without tripping on cat and I will set something to brew and then I will sit here and think of a way to say what I’m thinking of.

Or I’ll crawl back to a soft bed and curl, like an eyelash, between them.

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