He smells baby-like, and milky soft. Right now his tiny head and one white paw are sticking out from under my vest, and his little body nestles sleeping while I work. This is bliss. Not so much the work (the 15th hour of it today) but the quiet, purring company.

Ah work today was good. More achievement. Little achievement, but that's enough for me.

Bud sent me a replacement mp3 player- with all the shuffled random Timea tunes and a bit of Ira Glass on it. I love her endlessly.
Actually it's been a good few days for catching up.
I spoke to MM over the weekend - and learned what Costco is, and learned that in some cases it can be as dangerous as Bunnings.
And I spoke to Lee today - after more than a year of silence.

Ooh and Gary and Jo are having me to dinner the weekend Mat and Kili go home to Hungary.

The rain wet the clothes on the Hills Hoist this afternoon, even though I left work early to race home and take everything in. Alas I left them out there, droopy and dripping in the gray backyard.

This is a nothing much post. Just happy. Blinking tired (nothing unusual there) but happy.

Forgiveness

I am learning that to apologise is often easier than forgiving.

Last night in my solitary, furious, self pity I thought of grand gestures and something - fuck - anything to make the night memorable. So I wrote to Gareth. And I apologised. Of course it's too little too late, but at least I've done it, and I don't expect or really want a response or any kind of contact. I just want him to know that I'm sorry. So.

And then today - all of today has been flat and crap with more wallowing - and, amazingly more gifts from my beautiful colleagues (yay organic gardening book!!). And then, just after four M called and apologised, and I couldn't say anything for the big fat knot in my throat. So what makes grudges stick so insistently? I wanted to shout at him and say no it's not okay, when really it is. We all have shitty days, and shitty weeks and stressful times. Some deal with it better than others, and some can concentrate in two different directions at once. Some, but not all. And that's okay too.

So at least now I am going to the sail and anchor with a lighter heart. And new knickers. (Well, I had to buy something extravagant if he wouldn't, right?)

30

and oh there's a lot of love.
It's twenty past seven and I'm already sat down to work for the night.
There were flower (pink carnations) and a book (about Batavia) and a very rushed dinner in Hilarys...but no long looks and no relaxed toying with time because for tonight I still can.
And I can't forgive excuses to study and rest up for tomorrow because I know the nights I have bargained with, the sleep I have gone without to make sure a particular night is special. Fuck practicality.
If I had one wish for my 30th birthday, one I know is not possible, nor right, nor clean would be for one more night with the Adam I met the night the sailors came to Freo. To be back in that yellow room in Wray Avenue when the world and all time had stopped.

Today was full of beautiful things. Until I came home from work it was effortless and special and beautiful. Maybe I expect too much. Maybe being a dad and busy with a proper job is too much, but I don't think so. We were just going through the motions and it's only been six months.

And then Dale called. And that made most of it much better. Because I remember how to banter with people that love you. They might forget, which is okay, but they love you, across years and across states. That's important.

I think I put too much worth in the princess treatment, and maybe the lack of it is what 30 is all about. But I loved Joe for kissing me today, and A for kissing my hand, like a knight. And the flowers and chocolates and the excitement.

So- for want of something more special, I have my soundtrack of powderfinger, gary jules, garth brooks, bizet and ska-p and will work through the last of my metrica.

Goodnight...

You took the words right out of my mouth

Friends eh.

I always thought I was good at apologising. God knows I've had to do it enough. But does the fact that I don't want to keep apologising over and over mean that I don't care about salvaging the friendship? I'm not sure - and this situation is utterly foreign to me.

It seems my vindictiveness is alive and well, despite being away from hugh for well over a decade!

the circles around me are changing and i'm not sure if i mind as much as i thought i would.

Suburban life

I had my first real suburban morning today.

In my dream I was shoveling chocolate cake into my mouth when my alarm rudely sounded. The room was still dark and the air was biting cold. Mat insisted on making coffee so I had time to traipse around getting ready.

As dawn cracked the sky, we were already out of the house, in the car and on the way to the station. Being driven to the station, catching the train - how delightfully pedestrian!
I burst into the clean Perth morning and shivered happily in Karen Millen (oh those were the days). After a coffee that was more mirth than caffeine, I stopped at the Information office to get a new smartrider card.
The service I received reiterated why I'm in love with this place. So now I have another smartrider, and another 20 bucks or so, floating back onto it, sometime soon.

I love my job. I am having small success after small success and JA - the lady from the business for whom I do the most work - said I've been doing better than expected (in a nice way, of course).

Last night after a mad tidy up at home, and a quick bout of Metrica, some of the Tuesday ladies and I went to Zumba. I found it more difficult, my hips felt more concrete laced than ever, but by the end of it I was buzzing. Evi drove me to the station, and I called Mat and he picked me up in Greenwood.

At home the smell of fresh soup greeted me, and a warm kitchen. And we sat at opposite ends of the table and worked. He on his ultrasound studies, me on a new short story. This quiet life is what I've always wanted. And if not always then for the last three years definitely. I don't feel like I'm constantly looking over my shoulder now, fearful of time.

I am so full of the happies today I think they're leaking out my ears...

Her leopard print cigarette case reminded me of a 21st century oscar wilde fan. her generosity was lovely and unexpected.

the rest of the weekend was heavy but full of beautiful moments. There were some ups and downs with M on Sunday - there appear to be some ructions in his heart about all these good looking male friends I have, but i'm on and on at him about talking about stuff. So last night finished much better than it started, and after an hour spent with me lying in the tub, and him sitting on a chair in our quiet suburban bathroom where we went back and forth, amid sniffles and sighs from me - we went to bed smiling and snuggly.

My honest long talk over a loooong breakfast in Freo with VC was the highlight of the weekend though. To say things that even in my head sometimes are taboo. That this is not the great love. Or at least not the greatest. That although it isn't, does not mean this is some terrible compromise.
I can't base my life around dreams, and I can't be with dreamers. He has to be a doer, and M is, and that's enough for me.
The greatest love passed and I'm just glad it existed.

So here is the start of my suburban life. Coffee at sparrow's far and dew on the grass; clackety clack down streetlit sidewalks to the briskly awake station, freeway roaring on either side. I'm looking forward to cooking dinner in your kitchen that we're going to make ours.

I dream into an imagined past.

Of swinging Hills Hoists under a ruthless sky and endless innocence in burning summers.
Of sticky mornings and days that last and winds that carry no threat.

Change. Gentle change.
Where boredom and certainty live side by side. Bedfellows in a lemony sunrise.

That's all I want. A heavy, cloying certainty. A sureness.

No surprises. No jolting joys and no more questions.

I want to know that you'll be there next week; flights as regular as flights are.
That we have habits and ways.
Our not identical but always the same coffees, the song of the beer in the bottle, the assurances in sleep.

And that the mysterious stirring in the night time is not a threat.
The sharp jarring of stars on my tongue as I go, rickety and hopeful down the rutted road between my twin pasts.

Long forgotten, oft remembered, I wake.
I wake.

I dream into a different past. I wake into another life.