The Palace Park

The Palace Park

Wednesday, 25 May 2011

Cher Fang

Your sibling the Squid will be arriving soon. When exactly, is anyone's guess but the OB is leaning towards early and I have to say, I kind of agree although if the Squid could shift slightly to the left and down, I'd be cool for it to hang out as long as it wanted. In, I know the Squid is alive. Out, anything can happen, including dying.

Morbid, I know. It's a gift.

Only today. I think it is the new stomach medication battling with the prozac. I am a walking advert for a new addition of _Geek Love_. If the Squid is in fact a squid, I blame GlaxoSmithKline and Merk, both of whom have sponsored this pregnancy.

So much has happened and yet at the same time so little. Your uncle M next door has completely derailed and -- after 2 rather spectacularly dramatic if unsuccessful suicide attempts -- is currently convalescing at the local psych ward.

Poor lamb. He did try to tell them he was sick.

As an aside, would someone please explain to me why hospital staff would give a man who has just tried to off himself a knife and then acts surprised when he tries to slit his throat?

As a result, your Auntie W is understandably frazzled and trying to keep their immediate world from unraveling. It is a trying time for her.

In other news, I have started a new job at the University of the Arts working on the Phillip Knightley papers; he's a retired journalist who wrote a comprehensive history of the War Correspondent called _First Casualty_. His papers are interesting and it has fulfilled a void that I knew was there but hadn't realised the full extent of until I was back in an archive. What it has NOT done is whet my appetite for digging into the PhD. Instead, it has sidetracked me into thinking abotu War Correspondents and coverage of wars.

So easily distracted am I.

There is also my recent obsession with ice which I have only just now deduced is linked to the return of fierce burning and vomiting of blood that accompanied me through most of last summer. Ice is cold. The crunching of ice is distracting, however momentarily, both from the pain in my body and what was (and occasionally still is) the pain in my heart. Fang, talk about connecting dots; its a good thing this isn't a competition of quick wit because I am not quick at anything these days.

Except maybe peeing.

I think on you everyday and stand in the garden most nights for at least a moment to hear the whisper of wind chimes. And the peony bush we planted for mother's day has blossomed. And the season's first robin perched in your tree. You see, you're just everywhere, even though I can't quite see you.