silver magic ships...
and the colours to my dreams - last night we watched "Searching for Sugarman" and it lifted me into a mood similar to the one I fell into when I first read Hartnett's Wilful Blue.
I was transported momentarily to sitting at the Luna on SX, watching Candy, dreaming of that kind of intensity. The damaging kind.
And how long it has taken to learn that I can live without the damage. Nay flourish.
I spoke to Bud today, and I am getting used to this changed scenario. And I'm excited about Little Bud, and I'm scared. But mostly excited. And I love her so much.
Our home is now properly our home, and most vestiges of the feral housemate have been domes-tossed out. We had an amazing celebratory dinner last night, with bubbles in an ice bucket and finally I feel like I'm easing into a routine.
Some aspects are the old routine, from 2010, when Craigie gym was my refuge, my pass-the-time until M came home. I still love going there, but it's more for the endorphin rush that brings me back home.
I am learning the train, and the weirdos and their schedules (so I can avoid them) and soon I will have a navy blue bike to ride to work and can avoid public transport altogether.
Maria asked me for some recommendations of contemporary poetry to give to her son who is edging into year 11, and arty and sensitive but still a teenage boy. I was honoured that she asked me, so I selected a short collection: Dawe, Henri, McGough, Kocott and then I gave her my copy of Geoff Lemon's sunblind, because he's also a sports reporter - which somehow makes him more blokey, no? Late in the afternoon when dashboard meetings, and signoffs had leached everyone's energy, I caught her leafing through the start of the book - to read his poem: How to write a love letter.
I was transported momentarily to sitting at the Luna on SX, watching Candy, dreaming of that kind of intensity. The damaging kind.
And how long it has taken to learn that I can live without the damage. Nay flourish.
I spoke to Bud today, and I am getting used to this changed scenario. And I'm excited about Little Bud, and I'm scared. But mostly excited. And I love her so much.
Our home is now properly our home, and most vestiges of the feral housemate have been domes-tossed out. We had an amazing celebratory dinner last night, with bubbles in an ice bucket and finally I feel like I'm easing into a routine.
Some aspects are the old routine, from 2010, when Craigie gym was my refuge, my pass-the-time until M came home. I still love going there, but it's more for the endorphin rush that brings me back home.
I am learning the train, and the weirdos and their schedules (so I can avoid them) and soon I will have a navy blue bike to ride to work and can avoid public transport altogether.
Maria asked me for some recommendations of contemporary poetry to give to her son who is edging into year 11, and arty and sensitive but still a teenage boy. I was honoured that she asked me, so I selected a short collection: Dawe, Henri, McGough, Kocott and then I gave her my copy of Geoff Lemon's sunblind, because he's also a sports reporter - which somehow makes him more blokey, no? Late in the afternoon when dashboard meetings, and signoffs had leached everyone's energy, I caught her leafing through the start of the book - to read his poem: How to write a love letter.
posted by BanAnna at 2/26/2013 05:34:00 am
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