18th September 2012
I’ve just been bitten on the side of my jaw by a mosquito.
The temperature has dropped tonight - the bathroom tiles are icy cold under my bare feet.
My husband is in bed - I’m blogging - means we have separate bedtimes now.
I hear the muffled clunk of the catflap - the pussy cat will be sitting in wet grass. He’s vomited up his food the last two days - so I'm back to the routine of carpet cleaning.
The students are back - Freshers week - late night talking in the street.
I’m writing these mundane and random things because I don’t know what to say about today.
This morning my sister wanders round the tile shop with me helping me to focus - I’m in love with the shimmering glass mosaics all over the walls - sheets of dragonfly wings trembling in sunlight.
At the lunch table I feel my husband’s loose-endedness emanating from him like a silent melody playing over the plates of avocado and roasted tomatoes - familiar and hopeless. This time I listen to the tune and stroke his back but I don’t change my afternoon plans.
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