Last night, my son went for a sleep over at his best friend's. It is shameful how I enjoyed the calm, peace and quiet of the house, the feeling of freedom.
However, I pushed my reflection further and I realized that for all the time, worry and responsibility that my son represents, he plays the role of a guardian angel for me, because he is mon garde-fou. Having to take care of him means I must take care of myself, something I might otherwise approach differently.
In the meantime, my heart is sick. I tucked it in bed, shoved a thermometer down the aorta, and tied a woollen scarf around the ventricles. But it has to follow me around, so I wrapped it in bulky gauze and tied it on a sling around my neck to go to work. It's like the Fisher King, bleeding from a wound that won't heal. It's draining to be sad. Physiology is very strange, your heart hurts and it's actually a pain in the butt. Perhaps the heart is not located where we always thought it was.
Well, I still have to go to work and it still has to go on beating. To each their job. The wound has been there for ten months now, I'm about to throw a birthday party for it. That should help: candles, confetti, pointed hats, the whole nine yard.
Do you think I'm teetering on the edge of the absurd recently? You're right! I've been coherent far too long. There are limits any self-respecting free spirit must abide by.
Yeaaaahhh!! Let's go crazy!!:-)
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