*
A month, a month, a hideous month. Whirlwind caught me up and dashed me down against these New York streets, shivered and sneezing. Shae is settled, I am settled, I am alone and ecstatic. My father's psychotics are no longer mine to witness. My mother's anxieties are no longer the pain in my head.
A slow quiet start, silence in my apartment, not even the sound of the street. A retreat, a blessedly cool, dark corner of Manhattan to call my own.
With a broken sink, broken lights, mold-filled kitchen, and hair-covered bathroom. But it's my broken sink, my broken lights, my mold-filled kitchen, and my hair-covered bathroom, and because of that, I can handle it.
*
Time is a funny thing. Before I notice it passing it's gone, gone and forgotten, wasted and dribbled away among budd and booze. Paint and paper and pencil and pen, I'm losing my mind and my time faster than I ever have before.
Noon and a half today, my apartment quiet and abandoned. I can hear the kiddies screamin' in the recess yard, screaming "I got mine, I got mine." We all think we've got ours til we lose the time. I wish skinned knees were the biggest problem of mine.
Abortion jokes make me cry. Those here who know seem to have forgotten and there is no tenderness towards the subject. Shae and I, still periodically messes of tears and anguish and thoughts of our little girl with her Babar doll. Her curls and freckles are still as real to us as the ground we walk on. He, in a depression, deep and silent for two days - literally barely a word. Shae didn't see the ultrasound and wishes he had, wishes he'd been there to hear the tech report, "Eight weeks and one day."
But we stumble and smile and get past. I don't want to forget her and Shae feels awful bringing her up. I'm the only one he can talk to about the whole shebang, but each time I'm hysterically hyperventilating within five minutes. He doesn't know where to go anywhere more than I do.
But we manage. We get by. We drink more than we ever did, and we whisper half-hearted hankerings for something stronger than pot.
A month, a month, a hideous month. Whirlwind caught me up and dashed me down against these New York streets, shivered and sneezing. Shae is settled, I am settled, I am alone and ecstatic. My father's psychotics are no longer mine to witness. My mother's anxieties are no longer the pain in my head.
A slow quiet start, silence in my apartment, not even the sound of the street. A retreat, a blessedly cool, dark corner of Manhattan to call my own.
With a broken sink, broken lights, mold-filled kitchen, and hair-covered bathroom. But it's my broken sink, my broken lights, my mold-filled kitchen, and my hair-covered bathroom, and because of that, I can handle it.
*
Time is a funny thing. Before I notice it passing it's gone, gone and forgotten, wasted and dribbled away among budd and booze. Paint and paper and pencil and pen, I'm losing my mind and my time faster than I ever have before.
Noon and a half today, my apartment quiet and abandoned. I can hear the kiddies screamin' in the recess yard, screaming "I got mine, I got mine." We all think we've got ours til we lose the time. I wish skinned knees were the biggest problem of mine.
Abortion jokes make me cry. Those here who know seem to have forgotten and there is no tenderness towards the subject. Shae and I, still periodically messes of tears and anguish and thoughts of our little girl with her Babar doll. Her curls and freckles are still as real to us as the ground we walk on. He, in a depression, deep and silent for two days - literally barely a word. Shae didn't see the ultrasound and wishes he had, wishes he'd been there to hear the tech report, "Eight weeks and one day."
But we stumble and smile and get past. I don't want to forget her and Shae feels awful bringing her up. I'm the only one he can talk to about the whole shebang, but each time I'm hysterically hyperventilating within five minutes. He doesn't know where to go anywhere more than I do.
But we manage. We get by. We drink more than we ever did, and we whisper half-hearted hankerings for something stronger than pot.
