nearby, where the home is.
sunday morning; I’d awoken too early today. excruciating pain in the lower abdomen pushed me out of the bed. sweat dripped down my back, the uncomfortable feeling is unrivaled. I skipped my morning routine and retreated to bed after swallowing the last of panadols I managed to find. orange drapes bathed the bedroom in soft pink light and for once I felt calm. for a moment I considered the only day off for the week ruined by the physical discomfort, but then I realized; what could possibly be better than staying in bed longer, cozy, with the other half sleeping next to me in a soft slumber? sundays were made for this.
there were also made for realizations; that I miss proper seasons. the slow turns of winter becoming spring, the first sun rays in february that are not warm, but they make you feel warm inside. the happiness of seeing first signs of nature blossom back into health. I remember the plains and mountains around our old house, the bare skeletons of trees, waiting. but mostly, I realized that I miss space. spacious gardens and backyards, large living rooms and a proper kitchens with an oven and a dish-washing machine. I miss the vastness of sailing the seas and feeling the breeze, brushing your face.
the boy stirs in his sleep next to me. suddenly I cringe with pain and it wakes him up. for a split of a second, there is horror in his face, thinking something terrible is happening. I am okay, I say. we spoon and he holds me by the waist. but the discomfort won’t ease. I think of wrapping a hot water bottle in a towel, placing it against my stomach. adventurous plans for the day fade away, it is clear we will only stay in bed today. the weather is gorgeous outdoor and I feel guilty for not taking advantage of it. I slept through the day. he took care of me, we listened to our favorite music. I wanted to write, but I couldn’t find the focus. it eluded me entirely.
but I still collected the words in my mind, noting down invisible ideas. twitter and its 140 characters help me with this. some sentences are abstract and disconnected, but this is how I collect my thoughts. scrolling through my feed usually inspires me, because I find something, I remember something, I read a sentence that has the perfect potential of becoming a paragraph. just like tonight.
post scriptum; communist daughter of neutral milk hotel just came up and it surprised me that they have not released anything new since 1998.
April 14, 2014