What to do when a bird gets stuck in your house


more words
10 September 2008, 1:52 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , ,
5
R has taken to singing old standards on Friday evenings; the sleepy harmonies waft down the stairs of our tiny apartment, weaving together a picture of love, of happiness, of what constitutes enough. And then the tune shifts, and suddenly we are dancing among warm brass and wishing simple visions of courtship upon each other. He gives me a daisy wide as the sky; I wear a skirt that swishes; we laugh and flirt, try to impress each other. The future becomes one fantastic vision of hope and shiny possibility; we can fly to work and dash between the stars.
6
I think I missed your birthday. I don’t know why I use this space to write notes to you – old habits, it must be. I sometimes wonder what life would have been, otherwise. Who I would have been, if seen through eyes other than R’s.

These ether-futures, spinning out and bleeding like watercolors.

Would I have gone to Berlin, perfected speaking a language that capitalizes nouns? Taken a lot of drugs, stopped, then delivered perfect babies? Would we own a house, would I recognize this other ether-woman? Would I laugh more, or less? Would we watch sunrises or sunsets?

7
Am feeling subversive and sneaky these days, letting my job book me plane tickets to Canada and beyond while I dart out to interview elsewhere. But I have been looking at people with blank expressions and putting emotion behind the thermostat wars, meaning it may be time to get the hell out. I was talking to Becks yesterday, weaving a tale of sanity and competence, when an old Siamese cat placed himself firmly in my path and stared, cross-eyed, calling my bluff. I met his gazes, ran a hand over his rough fur, and dreamt of all that more means.
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