There are days when my soul sings (and for anyone who's ever heard me butcher the simplest tune of the catchiest song this is quite the statement), piercing the tightly clenched atmoshphere with a single note, a very, very, simple, sweet, contralto.
Last night, I finally had the chance to see "Chocolat", the french film (that I'm convinced was filmed somewhere that I've spent considerable time in, like Le Puy or the sharply angled historical part of downtown Lyon) that's more of a fayrytale than any modern-american-high-visuals-no-content sort of waste of time, from the careening red rooftops to the perfect rose of Juliette Binoche's cheeks.
And when tragedy struck amongst the wild triumphs and gleaming joys, Georgia reached over and put her little hands in mine, along with Tia's, and David grabbed my other hand with both of his.
I was successfully stretched across four ultra-plush and ultra-wide seats, but I couldn't have been more comfortable, or any warmer without princess and the rest of the known world being there.
And I let myself cry all the way through, carried Georgia out of the theatre thrown lightly over my right shoulder (hey, she's 13 and I've been working out) and wished her a happy birthday one millionth time.
She called me at work today with french homework questions.
And I took the boy home and let him fold me up to his chest, and we lay there and talked that way and I had the sudden upsurge of terror that I was enjoying the moment more than I was enjoying the sex.
I think I'm getting attached to a man that it is utterly impractical for me to be attached to, a man who is neither poet nor programmer, a man who values kindness over excitement, a man whose daughters will always, and should always take precedence over me.
...a man who has made me feel more feminine than anyone that I have ever encountered, with the way he nods vigorously when thirteen year old girls tell me that they love my laugh, with the way he looks at me from across any room, with the way that he tries to ever so casually tell me that he thinks that I'm "pretty fucking wonderful".
And yet I've never taken a shower at his home, he never at mine, I've never driven him to work because we left his car there knowing that we would spend the entire night together.
But sometimes when I look at his funny bowed legs or the thinning stubble that he has for hair, I feel an affectionate urge that I thought I never would feel for anyone but children or Maria.
Add that to the brilliant pitch of the sunshine streaming through the one window that I managed to convince Peter to unshutter, add that to the fact that I get to see Kaff and Steven tonight and the fact that I finally had that stupid bloody inspiration that I've been begging for in my code...
...add that to the fact that I breathe in spring everytime I step outside, add that to the fact that I didn't even know it was women's day and yet everyone went out of their way as though it was Valentine's and I their lover (from e-cards to vanilla cakes and sweets and a fancy quiche for lunch), add that to, oh I don't know what...
Add that to the fact that John compared me to Viane (Juliette Binoche, myall-time favourite actress)'s character, and all is right in the world.
Only I know it's not, and I'll never forget that either, but right now my soul is singing with every reflection of the spring light against the remaining snow that we passed on the way out for lunch today.
Yeah, so I skipped the gym and hockey was cancelled this week.
I enjoyed the rest too much to chastise myself for it.
~