Down the hill in the house strung with lights around its olive green deck there is laughter and singing. There are people with guitars under the stars and female voices sing "We want to write a song about life and love and moving on." The dogs are being disobedient so I hope the people don't hear my whistling and chiding on the hillside above them as they sing. I swish my flashlight back and forth conspicuously.
The English don't like to talk about much. I wish I could write about my evening honestly, but there seems to be very little upside. I wish I didn't have to feel so much because it doesn't feel very English. I actually fantasize about writing the truth here. Not that I write lies. It's all true, with great huge swathes cut out. It's a curated truth, I suppose. I fantasize about the catharsis of revealing everything, and of trying to make heads or tails of it when it's boiled down to words on a page, just little black and white squiggles instead of the blood and guts way it feels, swirling in my head.
If you're easy on yourself you realize that it takes a while to unravel two destinies, knotted together. If you've ever had two little fine-linked necklaces that have become entwined, you know what I mean. If you're good to yourself and kind you will know that this takes time and there is no easy way to undo the knots, that in fact time is your friend as much as you hate time.
Time goes so quickly says my mother. She can't wait for the summer when the children and I will be in Norway. I think about it too. Two weeks of simple bliss and sweet yellow cheese in the middle of an atrocious year.
Everyone thinks I am fine. My therapist tells me that its because I don't show my vulnerability although I think I show it plenty. I think "heart-on-my-sleeve" is my middle name. I'm quite happy everyone thinks I'm fine. Miserable people are boring, afterall, right?
And dating, everyone's asking about that. I don't have the strength or the confidence, truthfully. I just can't imagine anything worse than sitting down for dinner with someone I don't know and having to be "on." I love male company more than anything but not like that, not awkwardly.
Time goes quickly apparently. I really hope so. I just don't want to be here now, if you know what I mean. Here in June sounds good, or here in July, or even May, but not January. Not January. It's too tiring. And there aren't even snowdrops.