Tuesday, 27 January 2009

I Write This

I write this on my mum's computer while she packs her bag for Tasmania where she'll spend two weeks with my dad.

I write this after a productive day of working on the fifth storey of an office building in Melbourne, punctuated by nectarines, coffees and lunch with my lovely friend Chris.

I write this after meeting my sister E after work. We sat on a metal bench on the street and talked like only sisters can before I took a tram to my grandfather's house.

I write this after dinner with my mum at a busy vegetarian restaurant.

I write this wearing only a singlet. The door leading out to the balcony is open and the city sounds enter the living room like a mixtape.

I write this and you read it with a soundtrack and a Tuesday tale of your own.

2 comments:

ms. delisha said...

I write this from my desk on the third story of a building on the National Historic Register in Louisville, KY.

I write this on the day after my daughter's third birthday on a day when the snow and sleet are falling outside and have done since late last night.

I write this even though I cannot hear the sound in my windowless office with one red wall. The only sound is the clicking of my keyboard, the processor occasionally making my large, heavy cherry wood desk vibrate because I am too lazy to move it.

I write this before I close my browser window and head for the door to grab a coffee from the starbucks across the street and then my daughter from her daycare, with visions of icy snowball fights and hot chocolate dancing in my head.

I write this after daydreaming about kissing my Chris in the kitchen this morning, Pecan Pie by Golden Smog playing on the radio, the smell of his morning egg and toast mingling with the smell of freshly opened newspaper.

I write this with so much love across oceans.

Anonymous said...

I write this as my son resists doing his homework.

I write this as my best friend stands in my kitchen with five holes in her abdomen that, thank G-d, are healing nicely (albeit a bit itchy).

I write this as the succulent clippings try to grow roots in the round bowl on the mid-century coffee table.

I write this with salty dried tears still on my cheeks waiting to be tasted by a lover's kiss.

I write this as Venus (or maybe Jupiter) hangs low in the western sky.

I write this Tuesday tale from the loveseat filled with love and gratitude for an excuse to be inspired today.