Wednesday, February 25, 2009

1:00 am

Domesticities: The girl likes them. She likes to look at the little wind-up speed boat next to the tub. She likes to hear the sound as her child turns into this back and his legs hit the slats on his crib. Tonight she doesn't even mind the dishes in the sink, something she usually hates.

When she finally gets home from work, she checks her email. She talks to her partner about the visit the partner made to her dead grandfather's house. She changes into her pajamas. She sits on the toilet. She cries. A big dead dropping tear. She pushes it back down. She doesn't have therapy next week. It feels like forever until she can drop back into the plush couch in her therapists office.

Her feet are cold.

The kettle boiled. Sleepytime tea awaits. She got home from work at 12:30. The girl works again tomorrow, early-- 7:30. Work is long and she is tired, but at least at work she has direction to her hours. She looks around her living room, small detritus of a 2 year old. Little guys that ride in trucks, puzzle pieces, board books. She's said it elsewhere, but she doesn't know what she wants.

She slides into her bed. She closes her eyes.


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