It’s strange this feeling of contentment.
Alien almost.
At first I wasn’t quite sure what to do with it and I found myself trying to tidy it away into a corner so that I wouldn’t have to deal with it. Yeah that’s it, I would think to myself, just pretend it’s not there, just like the pile of clothes at the foot of your bed crying out to be ironed.
That didn’t really work.
So I tried to counter it’s queer effect by picking little fights in some vain attempt to try and remember some wrangled state of emotion that I was used to, that I knew. I know complication and confusion very well. The darkness that creeps around.
But that didn’t work either.
And after a while I ran out of hare brained ideas and I just let it be.
These days I’ve come to like this happy heavy weight on my heart because I realise now that this weight is the knowledge that if there’s one thing I can rely on, it’s that you will always love me, and it makes my load that much lighter. And you know what? I can’t quite remember what I did without it.

So I was rooting around the back of my dusty cupboards and in amongst the worn shoes, the too-small clothes (note to self - surrender the fantasy - you'll never be that thin again!), print outs of e-mails that mean a lot to me, CDs, books etc etc, glinting right there at the very back, I found my once beloved blog.

It was covered in dust and was looking a little forlorn and slightly dog-eared - not unlike a now neglected toy that had once been so loved, the favourite, one that I couldn't bear to part with.


I polished it up with a cloth and sighed as it regained its former sparkle. I'm going to look after this blog again, I thought to myself, breathe some life back into it.

And so I did.

And then work got in the way again.

*sigh*

And now I feel like a petulant child, because, it's not fair. I wanna play with my blog, write all these things that are crashing around in my head, longing for escape. I want I want I want!

*sigh*

Some day soon I'll restore this blog back to the way it was.

Until then...I'm clawing my way through the next two days and then I'm off to the seaside for some proper air. Maybe while I'm away I can re-evaluate my priorities (!).

In the meantime, say hullo to my imaginary dog-pet. Ain't he the cutest thing you ever saw?

Have a great Easter break Blogsville.

x

The doors slam so hard the vibrations can be felt humming through the walls in our place. I look up from what I’m doing, turn down the volume and sit still. I am alone in this beautiful, new flat.

And the screaming begins.

She shrieks so loudly that I can hear her word for perfect word, as I sit quietly,

“I FUCKING HATE YOU, EVERY FUCKING TIME, YOU PROMISE, AND EVERY FUCKING TIME YOU DO IT AGAIN, IF YOU DON’T LOVE ME ANYMORE THEN JUST FUCKING TELL ME, BUT DON’T PUT ME THROUGH THIS.”

I wonder if her breaking heart forces her to act like this, to lose her ability to rationalise and talk in a normal manner. She is so loud, that I can hear the strain, her voice breaking. Oh the pressure that must be mounting on her vocal chords.

I rarely hear him. And when I do, I have to strain to hear his words. But tonight he has had enough.

He shouts. Loudly.

“I’ve had a hard day at work, I’m hungry, I’m dehydrated. All I wanted to do was come home and relax. AND YOU JUST WON’T FUCKING LEAVE IT ALONE, WILL YOU? JUST FUCKING LEAVE ME ALONE.”

SLAM!

SLAM!

Two doors.

SLAM! And another

And then I hear the child, shrieking, crying, “Nooooooooooo. Nooooooo. Just stop it please.”

In that split moment in time, the blood has started to course through my veins, the adrenaline crashing around in my body, creating a thunderous noise in my ears. Oh God, there’s a kid. Fuck, what do I do now? Should I go round and ask if they’re okay? Should I call the police? What would I tell them? That my neighbours are arguing and the kid is upset but I didn’t hear anything that alluded to physical abuse. And what would happen if these neighbours found out I had called the police, and started a campaign of terror against me?

Oh come on. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t be thinking the very same cowardly things?

The child continues to wail, “No, just stop it, don’t upset everyone, pleeease.”

I think about how this poor child has no choice but to grow up having to hear this god-awful shouting night after night, the sound of two people falling out of love. What a black mark this must leave on their heart - no child deserves to grow up like this.

I don’t stop thinking about that child, and as I finally drift off into a fitful slumber, I promise myself that if I ever hear the sound of that child being physically hurt I will do my duty and call the police. Wouldn't you?