be the living hokey
moving on


People kept looking at me funny yesterday. One man in the bargain shop at Arnotts poked me in the arm and said: Lovely, that, isn't it? pointing at a one of those 80's-reminiscent photo of a drop falling into water. I smile, even though, inwardly I am saying: No, it's a piece of horrendous kitsch, and not the good kind. Then he moves off, looking over his shoulder to say: Sveden?
Dublin, I say. And he apologised, though I was utterly unoffended. To be thought Swedish? Fine.
Who cares.
In the bus to my apartment though, there was some cause for offence. A man (apparently normal and sane) saw fit to clip his fingernails and allow the clippings to fall inaccurately on a piece of newspaper at his feet.
Stomach turning, this. I did some glaring, but he was so oblivious to this, that I had no further recourse, but to get up huff-like and stand at the front of the bus.

As for this. The Charting experiment. The novelty has worn off, after a few months. I remain without child, and ambivalent about it. Meanwhile JB is very disappointed about it, and although he says an adopted child would be wonderful too, he wants to have a biological child too. And this is where our plans deviate. I have felt for so long that adoption is right for me: I have an strong feeling like an homing instinct about it. I am sure about it. I am not sure about the physical and emotional turmoil that a pregnancy at my advanced age would bring, and that's if (big IF) I can get pregnant at all.
It's making me a bit sad, all this.  I feel split in two - of course I want J to be a biological parent, if that's what he wants. But how hard do I have to try? And how can he push so for it, when he knows I am afraid of it?


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