Saturday, January 8, 2011

the one where I stagger through

(started on 1/8/11 at about 4 p.m.)

This shooting of Rep. Gabrielle Giffords in Tuscon, the death of a 9 year old, five others, thirteen injured ... consumes me today.

I listen to the sounds of my daughter and her two friends in my basement. Comfort even when my daughter screeches at one friend to "Stop!"

My fingers pause.

I think it's dangerous at this point to blame ...

No. The words won't come.



Today we will shift my child from me to him, unless we just ... can't. A movie with a friend later this afternoon. A healthy meal.


I find that my plans change depending on whether my child is here. Subsume self? No. I am more myself when my child is around than I was before I had a child.


A sweater tosses in the dryer. My sweater. My Girl "usurped" this sweater months ago. It is hers now.


There's no flow today. Feeling scorched though it's cold out, snow on the ground.


The buzzing dryer gives me a chore to do. I'll retrieve the sweater, fold it, continue folding T-shirts, matching socks.

Push through.

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