A Day In The Life
15 December, 2001

I watched Matthew fall asleep tonight, on the couch, his feet tucked up under my back as I sat and he lay beside me, his eyes fluttering close, then opening and closing once more, Lala tucked under his arm, and the soft lights from the Christmas tree glowing in the dark room.

I turned, and in a cold, calculated voice, told Matthew to shut up when he asked me once too often why his Mother and I were fighting today, and watched as his face changed as he comprehended what I had said.

I snapped, standing in the doorway of our house, turned, facing inward to Debbie as she talked to me with her anger and mine doing a dance of escalation, and I raised my arm and smashed the flat of my hand into the wall just above the closet, just on head height, and broke a dent through the wallpaper and plaster.

I lay with my head on Debbie's lap, and Matthew cradled in my arms as I whispered sorry to them both, and a little later wrestled with Matthew on the bed in the sun.

I stood in line with my nieces (8 and 7) and walked into the darkened cinema and sat right at the fron with them and watched Harry Potter, shushing them when they tried to tell me the plot and (unsucessfully for the most part) begging sweets from them through the movie, and then in the bright warm sun walking back to my parents house with them, dropping coins into the wishing well on the way.

It's 1am and I'm up because I couldn't sleep before. I think I needed to write this. I'm writing this and starting to feel sleepy. I'm writing this and missing being cuddled up to Debbie. I'm writing this and wondering why we fight. I guess 1am is a time for such thoughts. It's also a time for letting go and not thinking, just touching and sleeping and holding.

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A Day In The Life
15 December, 2001

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A Day In The Life 15 December, 2001

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A Day In The Life
15 December, 2001