Friday June 8, 2007
I’m wondering what to do with myself now. I dropped Graham off at the holiday camp this evening, and am ready to pick him up on Sunday evening. A nice short working stint and I know he’ll be fine.
Trouble is he didn’t want to go, I didn’t want him to go… oh, you know the score.
Of a sudden the house is quiet. Too quiet. It’s not that the house is noisy when he’s here, unless he’s drilling or sawing or doing something mysterious with power tools, of course. No, it’s just that Dolly snoring and me blungeoning about, bouncing from one emptiness to another, makes the wrong kind of quiet. That’s it. The wrong kind of quiet. One day I’ll write a poem about it.
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