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sweetbriarpoet
Flower Fortune- Sweetbriar: Poetry and fragrance.
 
Twenty-Fifth Entry
Tags: family music friends dance love kids life
Sickness is settling in  at the bottom of my stomach, a sour
thirstful longing that consumes even the most fragile parts
of my self. When I turn it burns my heart and makes my
bones jingle like sleigh bell sounds. My teeth rattle and clench as every
word passes through my ears. My fortune gypsy cackles, I told you
so.

I didn't write about my day yesterday, but perhaps it's just as well. It was one of those days when you wish things were different, when you wish you had never decided to make your life the way it was. It was cloudly outside, and the children were restless, and I, being a child, was restless too. I had fallen asleep on "Edward"'s shoulder on the couch the night we danced and watched films, but he was gone in the morning, the only sign he left was a cup of coffee and a note saying, Eh, bien? I knew what he meant. Well? A sign that perhaps we don't know what we should do with each other. Part of me was relieved he had remembered to leave some sort of passing note; otherwise I might have dreamed the whole night up. Another part of me was confused. Maybe I wanted it all to be a dream.

The rest of the day passed in slow motion, with Ginny whining more than usual, Christopher being in a horrible mood--I even had to put him in time out for thirty minutes, a rare occurence. Of course, I couldn't blame him much. With no outside to frolick in, no father to help give him attention, no school for a change of setting: it's enough to give one cabin fever. Belle was being exceptionally good, she has an intuition that surpasses her brothers'. She sat and read all day, or played quietly with dolls and blocks. Only once she cried, because I made her drink some milk. The other three boys didn't do much but watch movies and play legos in their rooms, and I never sat down once, trying to make sure everyone was okay. At some point Rev came over and tried to give me a hand, but I only ended up snapping at him which made him laugh. I tried to read for school, but Gabe and Belle insisted I read aloud to them, and so I didn't get through much material.

Harry came home for a brief minute, basically to take a long shower and say hello to the kids. It's like he's been gone forever, not just for a day. Has everyone been behaving? he asked them and then he had to explain that he didn't have time to play. He doesn't seem exhausted yet, but he says it's been slow at the hospital, and that things will pick up once it gets closer to the weekend. I miss you, I said, but he just hopped into the shower. It'll get easier, I promise, was his answer.

Today, it's not much different. The boys can go to school, but I'm keeping Oliver, Gabe and Belle away from daycare. They spend enough time there already. We played games this morning, read some books, and now they are falling asleep on the couch, watching Mary Poppins. I'm taking the time to write a little in here, and also write an article for a small magazine called WAC. Hopefully, I'll get a little bit of money for it--I can barely afford the groceries, even. I get my allowance for the month from Reggie and Louise soon. Although I feel guilty taking it, we could not survive without it. Harry and I barely make enough money to each other, not mentioning six children.

Chris and Tuck's birthday is coming up. They'll be all of six years old. Louse and Reggie have said they'lll come over to throw them a party, but I don't know where they would stay. They are used to their huge estate with lots of garden and lots of big, blue sky. This small, cramped house wouldn't suit them, though I know they wouldn't complain. The kids would be in Heaven--every time I mention Ouisie (pronounced 'wheezy') and Papa, they love it. If they came, they'd be bombarded with little munchkins running all around.

If only I could sit for a few minutes and finish all I have to finish for class-though even those few minutes wouldn't suffice in getting anything done. I feel as if work streches out in huge long waves before me, and I won't ever be rid of papers. Though I love to write, my brain has been toying with me, and suffering from lack of creativity. Every once in awhile, I catch myself quoting references when I'm talking to the children, or playing with one of them. If only I could seperate my role as mother and my role as student. Then, perhaps, I'd be able to give both the full attention they deserve.

(A bit of light among the clouds, however. I've got an interview with a publishing company in the city. If I get the job, I could work from home and double my salary.)

A rare occurence when alone at night you open a book
to find a bit of yourself among the pages.

8 Fates - Get Fortune Told
 
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