Almost like mid-day. Been listening to the fan click its way though the hours since 3:38, keeping time to the crazies in my head. Here in this bed it's hard to keep my fingers on the keys. I want to scatter my thoughts out over the laundry and the dishes and the facebook. Across the kitchen floor. Not think them at all.This whole past year spinning by in broken shadows cast out from the fan. But I'm still here. Still trying to figure out where here is, too. New digs. This light green room and the constant of my futon bed hard beneath by hips. Let it blow over my bare skin, light and cool from the ceiling down. Culture shock changes keeping me up at night. And my girls bunked next door, stacked one above the other in their dreams.
I got my life in boxes all around again. Dog at my feet. The curtains pulled open wide with the night coming in. I got some lovely flowers in the patio out back, but no front door. No street view, horizon pulled in tight around me. Hunkered down in the back of someone else's life. Strangers.
Nothing to see at this hour anyway. Just night pressed black against the windows, keeping still until the sun comes. And like a friend once said, I wan't watch it come to see how light emerges from darkness, remind myself: now and forever light always emerges from dark.
I don't want to share my daughters. There. There's the truth. I said it. I don't want to send them back to him for half the week and half the year and half their lives. No, I don't. And I don't care about fair. Who's to say what's best anyway.
