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[personal profile] edithjones
It's 9 p.m. and I'm home alone.

Frankly, I don't think I should be alone, but as I'm alone, I seem to be alone in that opinion as well. John's out playing poker at the rugby club, a good 45 minutes away, and Kate is still at Summer's house, although John told me she'd be home in the early evening and had picked up dinner for her, so he cannot have agreed to having her stay out as late as this. I've called but the line is busy. And still busy. And busy some more.

One of the problems here is that I don't want to be asleep when Kate gets home for fear that she thinks I'm dead. When I go to sleep tonight it's practically going to be the sleep of the dead. I've been struggling to stay awake since 6:30 now, and I'm mind-numbingly tired from the after-effects of a belly-full of pills, a night spent in a hospital corridor, the emotional anguish that has gone along with all of this, and a day spent largely with quite nasty abdominal pain. Once I take my night-time medications, I'm going to be out like a light for a good long time, I hope. All this wonderful sleep is being greatly delayed by the absence of one gorgeous and probably furious 12-year old. I'm going to call again. Excuse me, please. I hear that AFK is how this is said if one is chatting, as I am chatting with you, Mr. Computer.

Ah. The phone rang that time, the daughter was spoken with [said she, dropping prepositions left and right], and her cheerful voice informed me that she'd be home before midnight. At age 12. I have no qualms about her being where she is; Summer's parents are salt-of-earth type people and Kate is loved there, treated as a third daughter of the household. I asked Kate if she minded if I went to sleep; she did not as long as I left the door unlocked as going out unprepared to run into her friend she had not taken her key. Frankly, I'm amazed. I have an 18-year old son for whom forgetting his key could be an Olympic sport in which he could medal, and a 12-year old daughter who has one of those hiking clippy things on her backpack to which she attaches her key most faithfully, and even remembers key-related issues during a conversation on the phone with her mother. Most impressive.

In attempting to stay awake, I've managed to clean the kitchen thoroughly, except for the floors. They'll put that on my tombstone, you know....except for the floors. "I cleaned the bathrooms today, honey.....except for the floors." Luckily I have a Swiffer broom and a Swiffer mop and a son with a tenacious love for all things Swiffer so the floors of the house stay somewhat clean if they're hardwood or tile. And since we got our new vacuum a few months ago, I actually enjoy vacuuming. It's nice to have decent tools....I also love my new iron and ironing isn't the onerous task it used to be.

Now I'm going to have to pull myself down to a sleepy mood again. I tried to get myself revved up and succeeded too well. And there's stomach pain again which is nasty. I'm trying too hard not to think of what could have happened last night. There seems to be an insulating layer of shock keeping me from facing reality too quickly. I like it. I like the comfy, cosy, womblike feeling. It's like warm blankets and a cuddle on a winter's day, so cold outdoors that you can smell the cold air on anyone who comes into the house. And you slip under the blankets and the snow in your hair begins to melt and your feet begin to thaw as they warm up on your husband's calves.

I hope those cuddly winter days aren't over for he and I. Today everything was safe and good again and there was all the world of love and kindness. That hasn't been there in a while. I want to wake up in a world where that love and kindness and gentleness is still there. I still need the insulation, both the one that my body provides and the one that is given to my by his love.

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edithjones

September 2010

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