I have a new desk, which I had spent a couple of days admiring from the other side of the window on the pavement outside a stylish furnishings shop. It is a wood-topped table with three wooden drawers held in place by a brushed and muted metal frame. I was afraid I would lose my chance if I didn’t act fast. The same shop had had a beautiful wooden chest in the same spot where the desk was displayed. I had thought about buying that wooden chest, but whilst I was thinking about it, someone more quick to act than me scooped it up, and it was gone. I didn’t want the same thing to happen to ‘my’ desk, so I walked in the shop, pointed to the desk, and said, “I want that desk.”
The shop lady told me I had to pay ½ immediately and the 2nd half later. I didn’t want there to be any ambiguity about my intentions so I plopped down the full amount there and then. The desk is mine.
With a new desk in my new flat it might be time to write about – or if not properly write about, at least state the reason for - putting my head in the sand.
The putting my head in the sand and operating through a fog is the reason for my infrequent blogging.
How can you write about the meals that you eat, the trees that line the boulevards, and all the small things when a tragically momentous occurrence (for you) throws you into a fog?
There is also the fact that I must respect the privacy of my beloved and so the writing about it must remain obtuse.
When I moved into my new flat, I moved here without My Man. He is living just a 10 minute walk down the same street. We continue to love each other fiercely and see each other almost daily, but that does not undo the fact that life has thrown us a challenge, and, for the moment at least, in response to this challenge, we are living separately.
The past three to six months have been topsy-turvy and tear-filled. I have questioned my most fundamental life choices. This is life happening. Sometimes it’s easier to do it from a fog and to write about it from a whim-fully purchased new desk.