(no subject)
And then the season got away from me.
In October we passed days away under trees whose leaves took their time in turning and falling. In November, nearly the same. Since December we've been away. In a creepy time warp hotel in Northern Oregon, in the mountains of Idaho, the wheat fields of Idaho, the drizzling city of Spokane and since then, Minnesota, where there is snow and then there isn't and then there is. And the days are measured by the amount and duration of naps, now spent with a stuffed husky named Laika. How'd she know how much he likes huskies? I probably told her. There are no longer any secrets.
Time moves faster in the throws of caffeine ups and downs, albeit I only drink half-caf and half cups, or tea, when I'm feeling better. And time moves faster when there are fewer moments between differing pastries and time spent on drives and walks to acquire them. Had my sea legs and lost them again coming here where the water (like the beds) is so blessedly soft and the landscape so disastrously (desirously?) flat. And the city where my blood rages and my heart warms and I'm a confused mess of heartache and homesick. The good news is that I'm becoming excited about outdoor days and nights and know this is good for me body, soul, and marriage.
The boy turned one last week. And then the year got away from me. I haven't slept a night in over a year. I haven't been away from my baby for more than 4-5 hours in over a year. This is when a year has turned to seed, to pennies. To be anything for a year, now, is nothing. New Years resolution: slow down time. Suggestions: quit caffeine, meditate, disregard routine, zones of discomfort, stop thinking about time. I've become amazing at discomfort. I can hold this position for hours. I can hold my pee for hours. I can nurse a baby in any position you choose. Ridiculously long car rides? Hunger? Animosity? Awkwardness? Looking like a slob around fancy people? Belly fat? Destruction of possessions? Homelessness? Uncertainty? No problem. And herein lies the reason I have not written in three months.
I take back that hunger part. There can be no hunger. The things that plague me: the rapidity of passing time, hunger. And, well, maybe the oppression of winter. The socks and shoes and pants, and shirts and shirts and sweaters and coats and mittens and hats and scarves, all doubled for the baby and the car seat cats cradle and the short days (time again), and the weight of such a bundled creature creating havoc on my SI joint, again.
But hells bells if he didn't start walking ON HIS BIRTHDAY.
Perfect, sweet, adorable, hilarious, brilliant, etc.
Lucky lucky me.
In October we passed days away under trees whose leaves took their time in turning and falling. In November, nearly the same. Since December we've been away. In a creepy time warp hotel in Northern Oregon, in the mountains of Idaho, the wheat fields of Idaho, the drizzling city of Spokane and since then, Minnesota, where there is snow and then there isn't and then there is. And the days are measured by the amount and duration of naps, now spent with a stuffed husky named Laika. How'd she know how much he likes huskies? I probably told her. There are no longer any secrets.
Time moves faster in the throws of caffeine ups and downs, albeit I only drink half-caf and half cups, or tea, when I'm feeling better. And time moves faster when there are fewer moments between differing pastries and time spent on drives and walks to acquire them. Had my sea legs and lost them again coming here where the water (like the beds) is so blessedly soft and the landscape so disastrously (desirously?) flat. And the city where my blood rages and my heart warms and I'm a confused mess of heartache and homesick. The good news is that I'm becoming excited about outdoor days and nights and know this is good for me body, soul, and marriage.
The boy turned one last week. And then the year got away from me. I haven't slept a night in over a year. I haven't been away from my baby for more than 4-5 hours in over a year. This is when a year has turned to seed, to pennies. To be anything for a year, now, is nothing. New Years resolution: slow down time. Suggestions: quit caffeine, meditate, disregard routine, zones of discomfort, stop thinking about time. I've become amazing at discomfort. I can hold this position for hours. I can hold my pee for hours. I can nurse a baby in any position you choose. Ridiculously long car rides? Hunger? Animosity? Awkwardness? Looking like a slob around fancy people? Belly fat? Destruction of possessions? Homelessness? Uncertainty? No problem. And herein lies the reason I have not written in three months.
I take back that hunger part. There can be no hunger. The things that plague me: the rapidity of passing time, hunger. And, well, maybe the oppression of winter. The socks and shoes and pants, and shirts and shirts and sweaters and coats and mittens and hats and scarves, all doubled for the baby and the car seat cats cradle and the short days (time again), and the weight of such a bundled creature creating havoc on my SI joint, again.
But hells bells if he didn't start walking ON HIS BIRTHDAY.
Perfect, sweet, adorable, hilarious, brilliant, etc.
Lucky lucky me.