In the midst of that I had a good bus ride with a colleague who is also in love with writing and is just starting out (he's younger than me LOL). We had to go out to Porirua for a union meeting so we chatted there and back, mostly about gay writing and where it can go and what are the possibilities for some short stories. It felt good to talk to a writer again.
I have had so many thoughts, I haven't been able to put them down. I have my best thoughts for posting when I'm driving but by the time I get home, there are dishes or cooking or laundry or I just want to have a coffee and my fine thoughts go out the window. Like the other night, I came home from a course in the late evening and there was a brilliant rainbow pointing right down towards my house, a streak of colours dropping almost vertically, leading me home. At beautiful moments like this, I imagine writing about it here... but alas, time steals my words. and I've been so tired since the end of January when the term began. And it's been hot. Really muggy for Wellington. Hot nights and warm days. And there have been other worries I won't worry you with here. But overall, we keep on keeping on. My husband can almost walk again after the heel fracture last October. Asher can drive the car now but can't take passengers. Christy started back at Massey today and Finn is having a small breakdown over the work at school. So that's us. I still have a rabbit, cat and fish. And I still love Nick Earls. I re-read some of his books last month. Still good! He sent me a pic of the flooding in his street. Unbelievable. Is this the year of natural disasters down our way?
And as usual, I want to write. And have no time. My head is ringing. But let's get a little more creative... It's a dark night, with a shallow wind creeping and rising beyond the front hedge. The emperor gum moth caterpillars are sliding out of the bin and back to the gum tree under cover of darkness, and the cat won't come in. He gazes at me through the window with huge black pupils like saucers, comfortable with the Turkish cushion on the porch. I fold the laundry and send good wishes to the rabbit, invisible on such a dark night, an inky black blur in the shadows beyond the nikau palm. There are no stars to guide me back to the house after a final trip to the bin, and I breathe the crisp night air, resenting the warmth of our summer filled house and the heat of the bedroom ahead of me. I crush a spider that rushes across the rug and I think of death. But fleetingly. It will be morning soon.