12.06.2012 - 12.06.2012
I long for home. A clear winter day, the weak sunlight filtering through bare trees. The smell of smoke. Danish butter cookies and all manner of unhealthy treats. All the grocery stores tackily decorated, announcing specials on anything red or green. Chris curled up in bed unwilling to face the cold day, or running around in his sky blue onesie when hunger finally roots him out. The cat a furry circle at the foot of the bed.
All of that seems far away, impossible. An image from the past with the cloying taste of nostalgia. Did we ever lead such a life? It was different people--people floating happily through their days, I think. Here is one trimming herbs from her garden; here is another chopping vegetables on the kitchen island, the tile floor so cold beneath their slippers. Later they take a pizza from the oven. Dear God, a pizza. In the afternoon: she finds a patch of sunlight to share with a book and the cat; he watches a shitty movie in bed. Thus the day passes.