Lazy, rainy Sunday. I want to wander aimlessly in the rain, maybe get cold, maybe get rain in my eyes.
Sean is driving around town looking for a heavy bag and boxing gloves. The giant 16 y o wants it; we hope it will lead to fewer holes in walls. And the 13 y o is almost excited about it too.
The eight-year-old is talking in baby talk again and it’s driving me up the wall, except when it’s not.
Jane: How am I going to carry you up to bed when you’re as big as Cinder?
The eight-year old is curled up in my arms as the 16-year-old stomps into the kitchen, a storm of hormones, imagined stresses, real fears. I am helpless. All I can offer is… presence.
A stocked fridge.
I can still solve all of the eight-year-old’s problems.
That’s something, right?
Saturday night, I dance. Before that, I look at something that I’m afraid is ugly and unsalvageable.
It’s not that bad.
I can work with this.
Everything is going to be ok.
In the morning, my dad brings parowki and makowiec for breakfast. I make chickpea flour crepes.
“They’re not bad,” he says, shocked.
I talk on the phone with my mother. Her sister—my godmother.
I think I’m talking to ghosts.
Friday night, Leonard Cohen, as interpreted by Les Ballets Jazz de Montreal.
You can’t appreciate it unless you’ve seen it live, but here is a video:
Friday day, a house full of noisy, noisy boys.
I turn a chore into a break, a taste of bliss.
Hair cut for Flora—less than a centimetre of hair on the floor.
I tell Sean he has to make me look at the manuscript today, but he’s busy at work, he doesn’t.
Everything will be all right, eventually.
I’ll look at it. Eventually.
Thursday, everything goes wrong, one thing goes right.
The lengths to which I go to not look at the mess I have to deal with are really amazing. I’m full of awe at the ingenuity I exert to not look at the shitty first draft.
Thursday is my Ender-free day. I piss it away this week. I do things that look like work. They’re not.
I’m not doing the thing I need to do
Wednesday’s kind of a rough day all around; I end up in bed at 7:30.
Ender: I had a great day!
Tuesday, I decide exercise is bad for you.
But I do all the things. It’s an experiment in discipline.
How is it Monday already?
—->>>POSTCARDS FROM CUBA
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