"Love" is a four-letter word
Incidentally it is Isabella's first written word, that is, after her name and Mom and Dad. So if I have been feeling like a miserable failure, I can at least rest assured that I am doing some things right.
In line with my silly little attempt at a story (amazing how rusty one gets so quickly) I feel like a new woman. What a nice little clutch-free automatic drive shaft curled gently in one's hand won't do to rejuvenate a lass. In fact I feel human again, after six months of utter and pathetic dependence on another, I did everything I needed to do today all by my self! We went to the book store to aquire a gift for Isabelle (the neighbor)'s third birthday party. (I think now we get at least a month until there is another requisite party, gracias a dios.) Then, after a mid-afternoon nap - so much for a productive day - and a few hours of modernista mysery, Isabella and I went to return a movie, fearlessly flying to Trader Joe's for... what did I buy? I am not sure, but I did it alone, so who cares. M. is already thanking himself for he will never again be forced to do the grocery shopping while I am around and carful... Then she and I went to the University because I was tracking down a quote and we had the journal in the bibliotheque... Walking around in the darkness is not so scary when you have to be the one doing the protecting. There was a "Take back the Night" event going on and girls chanting something about hot wet pussy... hmmm indeed... Isabella was afraid of monsters and the trees that cast strange shadows, and there is something eery about the fact that every lamp that we passed seemed to go out as if in reverse motion-sensor action. Her chattering and my whistling kept the demons at bay as we waded our way through the obstacles in front of the library. She wanted to know if I knew the words to the song I was whistling and I told her that no, it was Mozart. She wanted to know if Mozart was dead - not the cat (we lost our 20-year-old twins last year, Mozart and Beethoven, the Jellicle cats) - she began to mourn his loss. No, not the cat, Did she die? Mozart was a he. Why did he die? To combat the boredom of eternal life perhaps? Mommy. I know, I am too silly.
Pondering independence and love, and their intertwining relationship.
What marvelous banality! My life is mine again.
In line with my silly little attempt at a story (amazing how rusty one gets so quickly) I feel like a new woman. What a nice little clutch-free automatic drive shaft curled gently in one's hand won't do to rejuvenate a lass. In fact I feel human again, after six months of utter and pathetic dependence on another, I did everything I needed to do today all by my self! We went to the book store to aquire a gift for Isabelle (the neighbor)'s third birthday party. (I think now we get at least a month until there is another requisite party, gracias a dios.) Then, after a mid-afternoon nap - so much for a productive day - and a few hours of modernista mysery, Isabella and I went to return a movie, fearlessly flying to Trader Joe's for... what did I buy? I am not sure, but I did it alone, so who cares. M. is already thanking himself for he will never again be forced to do the grocery shopping while I am around and carful... Then she and I went to the University because I was tracking down a quote and we had the journal in the bibliotheque... Walking around in the darkness is not so scary when you have to be the one doing the protecting. There was a "Take back the Night" event going on and girls chanting something about hot wet pussy... hmmm indeed... Isabella was afraid of monsters and the trees that cast strange shadows, and there is something eery about the fact that every lamp that we passed seemed to go out as if in reverse motion-sensor action. Her chattering and my whistling kept the demons at bay as we waded our way through the obstacles in front of the library. She wanted to know if I knew the words to the song I was whistling and I told her that no, it was Mozart. She wanted to know if Mozart was dead - not the cat (we lost our 20-year-old twins last year, Mozart and Beethoven, the Jellicle cats) - she began to mourn his loss. No, not the cat, Did she die? Mozart was a he. Why did he die? To combat the boredom of eternal life perhaps? Mommy. I know, I am too silly.
Pondering independence and love, and their intertwining relationship.
What marvelous banality! My life is mine again.
posted by ilana at 9:25 p.m.
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