One lonely robot. (c) Married to an Alcoholic
It’s 5am. In the past three hours, I’ve reached over three times trying to find her little toes. Because by this time, she’s padded over the landing and crept into my bed because she’s scared.
And each time I reach over, I remember she’s not here. Continue reading
So, that great wave has broken against the rocks and sprawled its way across the sand. The wild thing in me, washed away. Way back along the shore, there’s me, watching these crazy thoughts splinter in the sunshine.
Summer is upon us. After weeks of dreary, non-committal weather, we are having one supple day after another of Apollinian bliss here in London.
And like a sun-baked lizard, I seem to have come alive. Continue reading
Today is my anniversary. Exactly two years ago today, I started writing this blog. Back then, I was desperate and in despair. Rosie was a mere 3 3/4 years old. What she knew of her dad was that he had been suffering from an unidentified illness all her life. Continue reading
It is, right? Because then you don’t have to worry about collecting the child, or paying the bills, or cooking, or going to work, or doing the laundry, or making sure you leave home on time to drop the child off at school. Continue reading
Running. Away, towards, whatever. I’m running right now.
Imagine: standing still, while the you inside pulls away like a wad of chewing gum strung up to the underside of a shoe. See? One piece is still on the pavement, the other is bungeeing upwards away, momentarily free, until the shoe strikes the pavement and leaves a little bit of you behind with each step. Perpetual displacement with no refuge. Continue reading
source: albertoandjeff.wordpress. com
Yesterday was our seventh wedding anniversary, so I should have expected a woollen jumper or some new copper piping. I got neither of those things. Continue reading
Too mortal, a choreographic work performed at St Pancras Church, London, by the Shobana Jeyasingh Dance Company (source: shobanajeyasingh.co.uk)
Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe he doesn’t know how much it costs me to ask for help. Even if it’s a little bit of help. Continue reading
***
Without warning, this longing.
For years, I have lived in exile – from intimate emotion, from touch. I learned to live without, and felt stronger, superior even. I was untouchable in the Western sense: unreachable and thus invincible.
There were reasons for this Continue reading
The Hill Garden, today (view from the Pergola), Hampstead
We’ve had rubbish weather lately. London has been grim and grey and cold. It’s nearly June, and the rain has been truculent – a guest who has over-stayed his welcome.
But today, the sun hefts the heavens aside and strides out into the full swell of our desperation, dropping in for tea. An old friendship resumes. With a reassuring smile, the sun intimates it might be here to stay – for a weekend, that is. Continue reading
married to an alcoholic 