The longest weekend of my life began with the tiniest nightmare and I've only woken up in spurts.
Kaff onstage in so much glory, David hopping and bopping and strumming guitar beside her, me trying desperately to angle the camera over the heads of scurrying children...
... little Emily clinging to my hip and breast, flush with fever.
Six or seven hours there, where I wasn't thinking about myself, my life, my future, my stuph, my silk curtains that I made myself, the iron curtain rod that took eight hours of shopping downtown with Chuckies to find.
The bed has a home if I leave, the furniture doesn't worry me, the dishes? The books distributed lovingly, the comic books to whoever wants them, top hats and scarf collections..?
So many fetters, so many things... Porcelain plates that Princess bought for me, incense braziers... Two computers, records from the eighties, my juggling equipment comes with me, of course.
Every quiet moment has so many thoughts in it, always has but now each one is a worry, am I going to get the offer? How will I leave my beloved, his girls so attached that they cry when I put them to bed because I won't be there in the morning.
And then sometimes I dream of Paris appartments, courtyards and windowseats, so many beautiful people and me the strange crone, so much more a freak with my tattoos and nosering and strange clothes and wide hips than I ever could be in the land of the royally freaky.
Let alone the dragons and faeries in my head.
Round and round and round, so many tears and so many baths, one book finished, another begun, a strange french movie that Princess rented, fancy filet mignon medallions on the barbecue and the Reine Margot so beautiful in her mourning....
He's become so beautiful and I don't know if it's stars in my eyes or a whole new confidence in his step but his heart is even bigger than before and oh.. oh...
I should have listened to my young heart when I promised myself not to settle.
Maybe they'll call tomorrow, maybe the technical interview will go well, maybe what they need me to do is so staggeringly awesome and not quite so financial-district whorish that I'll just up...
...and go...
And be true to myself for a little, go see family that I actually consider family, work out the bank and my car and oh eight million things
I love him so much my fingers remember the curve of his chest and the only time I'm not worried right now is when I'm too busy swallowing the smell of him, the weight of him, his eyelashes on my cheek.
And I tried, so many girls I know that find him attractive, more beautiful than me and better dancers and probably better lovers and I mentioned it and he was bewildered although he knows my tendency of leaving lovers someone warm and better... And called it "cool" when first we spoke of it so many months ago.
But I can't, I can't bear to look.
And my wigs and clown outfit and clown make-up are small and would fit in a trunk, my skis and brand new lightweight bicycle and high-tech rollerblades... There was something in the notice about transporting sporting equipment.
I wonder if it will feel like home, if any place ever will.
Running in circles, in circles, already resigned to the corporate world and neat clothing, wondering about gynecologists and the woman who does my eyebrows...
And the phone system is different, maybe I'll just stick to a cell phone like I was planning to do here, and what will I do for music and can I afford a laptop at the same time as all these other things and oh...
I don't even have an offer yet. Not a single one.
Enough. I have a resume to translate into french for a Montreal company.
Enough.