In Transit

Soon to be in transit. It always unsettles me. And yet, there is also a part of me that is excited. To let loose the routine that holds but ties me. It is such a journey and I don’t feel as strong as I did. And this constant need to plan to think of every thing from beginning to end. I got that from her. I remember how she was before we went on holiday. Sharp-edged and as tight as a coiled spring. I couldn’t understand it. Why wasn’t she excited like we were? Didn’t she want to go? I understand her now. All the responsibility was hers. She wanted it to work, to be smooth for her and for us. Food was bought beforehand. I recall one trip to Spain when we travelled with a whole cooked ham. She’d snap and bicker with him. All that packing to do. Why did she have such a big family? Why did she want it? To love and be loved? It’s the London bit that unnerves me, all that carrying and then on the plane. Will I have room to stretch out? I want to travel light but I also want to bring what I need. But I don’t know what I will need. How will it be with them? Will we get on? Will my foot be better? Will I walk? Will I eat? What will I eat? Let go. Let loose control and enjoy the peace of that. And I am leaving him to fend for himself. All will be well.

I walk in discomfort. It concentrates the mind. The air was warm, humid. Should I take my stick?

Work now. Not edifying stuff but it pays the rent and I am grateful.

A lovely dream. She was making something (something out of cloth with words that I couldn’t read on it) and he was planning his speech for her wedding. She was me and vice a versa. So you have a degree? said this woman looking rather like Cecilia Imrie. I shall look you up, she said. Then I was trying to climb these stairs. They were outside and affixed to the side of a building. White stone, painted white but there were children’s toys blocking them. I had to climb over them. Why have they been put here? I asked before I awoke.

He was better yesterday. Lighter. So was I.