I’ve been upset with my writing lately like a pressure under my skin. I sit and words spill out twisting with fiction. There’s nothing different in the delivery, the process of not paying attention to the words is the same, but now there’s something being lost. My eyes feel too tight in their sockets, I hit post and almost want to cry when I properly see what I’ve written. My letters are beginning to have more than one recipient. I Don’t Like It. I can feel that I’m not the sort of girl who can let more than one person in at a time. No one can get less than half, this is hurting me somehow. If I am to write to my Painter, then my other lovers have no business creeping into my words. These people are too precious to blur, to lose definition is to betray them. In my blood, it hurts.
Today the first steps to leaving the country have been made. Paperwork begins accumulating and I am this much closer to freedom. I have to stay for the Jenn plus Steve equals wedding in the early summer, but then there’s nothing keeping me here. This means getting bits of information off my grandmother, but perhaps if I talk slutty enough she’ll respect me more. She is a bit odd that way. Ineffably english but very very loose with her affections, if we can call them that. The woman amazes me. She expects me to commiserate with her schemes to get laid as often as possible because, “well – you’re at that age dear. I’m sure you lie about your age all the time to get the men.” whereas I am continually surprised that she has yet to catch any lethal STD.
It occurs to me as I write this that I may actually have to visit her to get this arranged properly. She’s not known for being on top of anything that isn’t male. She owns a house in The Beaches, but there’s no possible way I could stay with her. I suppose I’ll find out in January if my open door home is still available in Toronto. I know there are still jobs waiting for me. I worry that if I go, I’ll go for a few months, spend the summer. Get caught in the happiness of living in a city again. I would want to stick out the winter rather than arrive in time for the England rains. It’s always nicest to come to a place in Springtime. Celebrate a birthday then leave.
No. Not leave.
Arrive.