I take my iPad and a cup of coffee onto the patio and write a little in fresh air. I listen to music on Spotify, and suddenly a sad and beautiful song comes on, Brothel, by Norwegian singer Susanne Sundfør. It catches me completely by surprise, I cry uncontrollably.
There are dark little bubbles under the surface, and I have to watch it now so they don't come out. Music is a minefield, but sometimes I just let my mind wander a little and discover that I am crying. As if the tears have a mind of their own and are just waiting to burst out when I am not watching. I know I have to deal with this, but there isn't any room here.
My personal space bubble has shrunk until it feels like cling film on my skin. I am being shrink wrapped. What I really need is to scream in a public place. I guess this is the digital equivalent.
When was the last time I screamed anyway? Probably in the gym, in some hyped up routine during Zumba class. How come we can scream there and nowhere else? How did it become more acceptable to scream over a good cardio workout than to scream out of anger or fear?
Rich arrives with our little Kitten, and I drink him in. I try to stock up on his hugs and smiles and words and smell, we go to the restaurant and I eat canteen buffet food with great relish. When they leave I am exhausted and fall asleep for an hour in the middle of the afternoon. I wake up worried. I don't normally feel this tired do I? Or maybe I do, but the energy required to live in this place is so minuscule I don't notice it. Will I have enough to give my boy when I go home? Damned beta blockers.
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