Routine is slowly swallowing me whole.
Every morning I wake at 530 am to begin preparing for the day. Lately, 530 am brings with it a feeling of despair, stress, worry and I spend the next ten minutes contesting my muscles. They want to sleep. I want to sleep. Collectively we would prefer to hide under the mocha duvet, finding comfort and security snuggled in the down. We want to spend the day curled around the heat of last night's sleeping bodies.
The mornings are getting colder now. The floors are cold on my warm toes, frigid whispers of winter's promise. The children protest against my gentle murmers, wanting to remain in the vestiges of sleep where dreams become adventures. I pull them from their reveries with bowls of steaming oatmeal. Bleary-eyed and rosy cheeked, they slowly wind towards the day with complaints dormant on their lips.
It is moments like this that I wonder when I will be able to enjoy them. This. Life. When will the spinning top come screeching to a halt and rust, stuck in the moment. When will I have a chance to pause. Take in. Breathe. Will there come a day that I greet the morning with optimism, pushing up from the calm and not feeling the pressures to perform, dance, create - obtain.
Excellence.
Demanded.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Blurred
We dance, he and I.
We dance in and out of the real,
the imagined,
and tear at the seams.
I reach for him and he skips away,
A shadow of yesterdays.
I feel him slipping,
the whisper of clothing sliding between my fingers.
Hands cramping and fingers splayed I scrabble in desperation.
Bring him closer.
We dance, he and I.
It is ugly and broken.
Our limbs akimbo, we gyrate and sweat.
We curse, we grimace and we hate.
I struggle for the fluid motions of moments gone
While he struggles to find what he has lost.
We spin and the world melts to blur,
Images doubled and distorted, trailing away like the laughter of innocence.
We fall, he and I.
In a jumble of arms and legs we lie piecemeal,
kneeling on pride and crushing spirit.
In a heap I dig,
Fingernails ragged and dirty
Searching.
Beneath the hate and the ugly and the arms and the legs.
Seeping from between hurt pride and broken spirits I know it hides.
Haunting.
We cry, he and I.
Shattered and crushed beneath turmoil and fear.
Panic flutters in his breast and helplessness stays my heart.
We drown in the layers I've exposed,
ugly and broken.
In a chemical haze, we tumble.
Darkened. Lost. Looking.
For the elusive Mickey Blue.
Don't worry. Mommy will find you once again.
We dance in and out of the real,
the imagined,
and tear at the seams.
I reach for him and he skips away,
A shadow of yesterdays.
I feel him slipping,
the whisper of clothing sliding between my fingers.
Hands cramping and fingers splayed I scrabble in desperation.
Bring him closer.
We dance, he and I.
It is ugly and broken.
Our limbs akimbo, we gyrate and sweat.
We curse, we grimace and we hate.
I struggle for the fluid motions of moments gone
While he struggles to find what he has lost.
We spin and the world melts to blur,
Images doubled and distorted, trailing away like the laughter of innocence.
We fall, he and I.
In a jumble of arms and legs we lie piecemeal,
kneeling on pride and crushing spirit.
In a heap I dig,
Fingernails ragged and dirty
Searching.
Beneath the hate and the ugly and the arms and the legs.
Seeping from between hurt pride and broken spirits I know it hides.
Haunting.
We cry, he and I.
Shattered and crushed beneath turmoil and fear.
Panic flutters in his breast and helplessness stays my heart.
We drown in the layers I've exposed,
ugly and broken.
In a chemical haze, we tumble.
Darkened. Lost. Looking.
For the elusive Mickey Blue.
Don't worry. Mommy will find you once again.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
October Wedding
I recently shot a wedding for my cousin in Niagara. It was a beautiful
fall day. Thought I'd share one or two from a truly lovely fall wedding.
DAG
fall day. Thought I'd share one or two from a truly lovely fall wedding.
DAG
Thursday, October 22, 2009
The Epic Illness
Sick.
Sick.Sick.Sick. On my back for the last six days, sweating, swearing, crying. My eyes are like two orbs of molten lava, dripping hot, sticky pain into my body. My skin hurts to look at, prickly, chilled. But no actual fever. Body aches, leg pain, back, arm, jaw (WTF?! JAW??). Tired, so very tired. The walls of my stomach throb dully and the world continues to turn on a off-kilter axis. I'm sick.
Other than making great relationships with school secretaries and university office answering machines - I'm hardly upright.
Send soup.
Or death.
DAG
Sick.Sick.Sick. On my back for the last six days, sweating, swearing, crying. My eyes are like two orbs of molten lava, dripping hot, sticky pain into my body. My skin hurts to look at, prickly, chilled. But no actual fever. Body aches, leg pain, back, arm, jaw (WTF?! JAW??). Tired, so very tired. The walls of my stomach throb dully and the world continues to turn on a off-kilter axis. I'm sick.
Other than making great relationships with school secretaries and university office answering machines - I'm hardly upright.
Send soup.
Or death.
DAG
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