Day of Wandering
Dec. 12th, 2001 03:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
neversremedy8Today is a day of wandering.
Tomorrow may be the day I sign daycare forms, though I just received a message from another daycare facility informing me of an availability. We shall see what comes of it. Why do they frighten me so? I wish I had someone to hold my hand, to tell me I’m doing the right thing, to know where Ana will be happiest when I must be away and working.
This morning I awoke before Ana and felt my mind and stomach turn over in unison, asking questions only Sera could answer. When Ana awoke, I fed us, dressed us and headed out. After stopping at the library to return a few books, I continued down the road and buzzed Sera’s apartment. Her eyes still laden with sleep, she came out in a silk robe and her work pants and curled up on the lobby bench.
The overwhelming sense “I’m nuts” came to me as I pulled the page of questions out of my bag and timidly asked my questions, almost as if I sat at my guru’s feet (which were bare). Patiently, she talked with me, answering as best she could those deep and probing questions, which disturbed both our sleeping on this chill, wet morning. Even though she couldn’t answer some of my questions (not knowing herself enough to answer), and even saying some things I didn’t really want to her to say, I felt better just having that knowledge. The unknown scares me sometimes, especially when it directly affects my life (and Ana’s!), and rather than fight or flight, I tend to tiptoe, curious of what lies in the dark. (I’d make a wonderful horror flick victim!)
So, we talked, we hugged, she honoured me with a recount of her own recent struggles, and I was able to comfort her. The nuzzling made me cry; the crying brought Ana to our arms. It was hard leaving, and I carried Ana back out into the rain, thinking of loneliness and suffering, wondering where next our paths would lead.
Sera is filled with fears, unsure of herself. She doesn’t feel “healthy” enough to properly help care for our daughter. Sometimes, I miss the days that never were, the opportunities that went unclaimed and unpursued.
I’m thinking about getting tiny tattoos on my fingers ... on each middle segment of the fingers of my right hand, I would like to have a small simple tattoo to represent each of my children. On my right index finger, a tiny, five-point lotus for Ana, on my pinky, a beautifully scripted “C” for Cynthia. Can I go through with it? I’m not ready for the slightly larger one on my ankle (“Na-Koja-Abad” in Arabic script with the mobius strip above it), how do I really feel about tiny finger tats? We’ll see how I feel in a couple of months when I might have money to pay for such body decorations. Any suggestions welcome from those who have tattoo experience. Especially ones so close to bone! ::smiles::
Tomorrow may be the day I sign daycare forms, though I just received a message from another daycare facility informing me of an availability. We shall see what comes of it. Why do they frighten me so? I wish I had someone to hold my hand, to tell me I’m doing the right thing, to know where Ana will be happiest when I must be away and working.
This morning I awoke before Ana and felt my mind and stomach turn over in unison, asking questions only Sera could answer. When Ana awoke, I fed us, dressed us and headed out. After stopping at the library to return a few books, I continued down the road and buzzed Sera’s apartment. Her eyes still laden with sleep, she came out in a silk robe and her work pants and curled up on the lobby bench.
The overwhelming sense “I’m nuts” came to me as I pulled the page of questions out of my bag and timidly asked my questions, almost as if I sat at my guru’s feet (which were bare). Patiently, she talked with me, answering as best she could those deep and probing questions, which disturbed both our sleeping on this chill, wet morning. Even though she couldn’t answer some of my questions (not knowing herself enough to answer), and even saying some things I didn’t really want to her to say, I felt better just having that knowledge. The unknown scares me sometimes, especially when it directly affects my life (and Ana’s!), and rather than fight or flight, I tend to tiptoe, curious of what lies in the dark. (I’d make a wonderful horror flick victim!)
So, we talked, we hugged, she honoured me with a recount of her own recent struggles, and I was able to comfort her. The nuzzling made me cry; the crying brought Ana to our arms. It was hard leaving, and I carried Ana back out into the rain, thinking of loneliness and suffering, wondering where next our paths would lead.
Sera is filled with fears, unsure of herself. She doesn’t feel “healthy” enough to properly help care for our daughter. Sometimes, I miss the days that never were, the opportunities that went unclaimed and unpursued.
I’m thinking about getting tiny tattoos on my fingers ... on each middle segment of the fingers of my right hand, I would like to have a small simple tattoo to represent each of my children. On my right index finger, a tiny, five-point lotus for Ana, on my pinky, a beautifully scripted “C” for Cynthia. Can I go through with it? I’m not ready for the slightly larger one on my ankle (“Na-Koja-Abad” in Arabic script with the mobius strip above it), how do I really feel about tiny finger tats? We’ll see how I feel in a couple of months when I might have money to pay for such body decorations. Any suggestions welcome from those who have tattoo experience. Especially ones so close to bone! ::smiles::
