31 December 2008

hope

So, let's be honest. Christmas with the pseudo-in-laws is hard. Cheerful, joyous, full of generosity and warm feelings of seasonal joy. But also too much everything and not enough sleep (who gets up at 6 every morning during vacation? who?!). Plus serious, black, homesickness.

But in the mess, somehow Liam and I found each other. Being away from home, where we were held and fed and looked after, we spent our spare minutes and long country drives dreaming of better. Making plans. Believing in a future, and that we could build a life we wanted. It was all so hopeful. And together. It felt so real, so possible.

And literally, the second we got home the rest of the world came crashing down and we were fighting within minutes. Money and deadlines and pressures we had actually almost forgotten in the fuzzy, holiday of make believe.

We are trying so hard. So hard to remember. To keep believing. To keep holding onto the fact that we will get out - leave this godforsaken city, with choices ahead of us, a future together.

But if I'm honest (and let's pretend I'm good at that for a minute), I'm terrified too. I don't want this life. I know we will find something. But walking away from the only life I've ever had that wasn't dependent on my parents - the only job I've held for more than a few months because I really believed in it (though my current passion is questionable), leaving the only city I know inside and out, have built a home in.

It's fucking scary. I know in someways Liam wanting to leave tomorrow is because it's a brave confession of how hollow this life is. But it also feels like running away. And I don't have anywhere to run. I'm not sure I want to run directionless, I'd rather decide, and have something to look forward to.

I will build up the courage to walk away - to start over again, to try omething new. But I have no idea what I would do, where we would go. And part of me isn't ready to jump ship.

It's weird we want exactly the same thing. But somehow the timeline feels all screwed up. I know we're looking for the same life, but maybe the getting there is going to be hard since now, then and inbetween is all a bit hazy.

I don't even know what I'm saying. I think it stung when he asked if I was serious about leaving. Because I am. But I didn't know we meant today. I thought we'd have a plan first. And I guess being scared is making me stall.

Fucking hell being a grown up is hard.

15 December 2008

Christmas wish.

Even after all these years, I still have unflagging yearning for Christmas to be special.

And it pretty much always is, even if it's not the kind on a Hallmark card.

It's never the same twice, despite my siblings attempts to instil rituals, but it's always a day to share something.

I can only hope 5,000 miles from my family I can still feel loved and share some joy with the people I do spend the day with.

I told Liam the other night that I wanted to gain two families, not feel like I was having to spend less and less time with my own. I so want it to come true.

09 December 2008

There Will Be Nights Like These

I first heard this poem read by the author in a strange Australian poetry house. I have read it a dozen times since, and while I do not generally like long winded quoting and I generally don't cut and paste, I want to share it with you.


There will be nights like these
when all you hear
is the asynchrony of our mouths -
the words we do not say
and the questions we do not ask hanging
in the cold aid above our heads
or lining the sill, growing damp.

There will be nights like these
when all you feel
is the anonimity of our skin,
the distance gathered in like
tangled sheets
which the other has never known

and I will lay curled like a fist,
every part of me twisted away
from your perfect mouth yes
there will be nights like these.

But there will be others -

my fingers uncurling and tracing your face
the white flag unfurled and you bracing
the dark with your sweet thieving hands
moving dog-sly and fox-quick and
the blockade in me breaks as if fashioned
of matchsticks stuck with grief so used up that
it crumbles when breathed on
and you tread underfoot
all the heart-rent and long-gone
as I lay down my weapons
you call the parade through
and I'm lifted and lost
at the surge and the sight of you

I'm lifted and lost to
our bodies so close
that the first pale blade of light
slipped under the blind
finds no purchase to separate
your limbs from mine on my word
we will wake like that.

Stay with me.


There Will Be Nights Like These
by Josephine Rowe.

You can find her, and this poem, here http://www.cherryfoxmantle.com/#.

08 December 2008

it's not that bad.

the oven is broken, the heater doesn't work, the sink leaks and spouts tank water - like on planes. you can't drink it. it's disgusting. and (gasp) dominoes won't deliver here.

but the sun streams in over the Pentlands. the cathedral bells chime from the top of the road. the front windows are floor to ceiling and show a better world, full of little old ladies and families playing soccer in the communal garden. it's a lifetime away (and 15 minute walk) from the muggers and druggies of my old neighborhood.

it could so be worse.

05 December 2008

tomorrow we are moving.

after the busiest 6 months of my life, we now have the added complication of boxes and internet providers and mail forwarding and the joys of heavy lifting.

i am nervous. and scared.

mostly because i am unable to take time off work, so I am not there. I am not packing. I am not the one calling the gas company. I feel useless and numb and it all seems so unreal without the methodical cathardic process of putting your old life away to unpack the new one later.

also, I feel guilty Liam is trying to carry this burden alone. Managing the little things can take a lifetime.

Plus, his brother is staying with us. To help with the move. But instead of coming for the weekend of the move to lift boxes and then campout in the new place, for unforseeable circumstances it has become a week of tripping over him in the packing process and a spare pair of hands to disassemble the shelving. A nice guy, and such a help. But the stress of packing and moving makes us shit hosts. It's all gone a bit pear-shaped.

Anyway. I should be excited. A huge, quiet new place in a nice neighborhood. But honestly, I am just counting the minutes until my world feels normal again. Until my life is my own.