Last night I hid in a box, because real life doesn’t happen when you’re in a box, right? Everything can just keep spinning away outside but inside is separated by a near-Narnian veil of what remains of childhood belief. It was a big moving box that belongs to my house rabbits – I had gone to sit with them to soothe my temper, and rather than face my partner who had taken the brunt of my work and money related anxieties, I eyed it, then just crawled in. It might have been cute, in happier circumstances, and if I were say three, or six. But it felt safe in there, the world reduced to a plush layer of slightly gnawed brown paper all within an arm’s reach. When he found me, we talked about the overwhelming world until a softly snuffling rabbit nose got me to come out.
I am most anxious about time spent unhappily, at work, say, in the pre-morning, and how it nibbles at the time I value, when I am free. Some people like their jobs – I have always found this amazing.
My cat woke me up yesterday morning with an epic concert of meows. This is her daily routine but I’m not usually home to hear it.
We walked around a small lake this afternoon as dusk settled. Swordferns and heavy tendrils of mist surrounded us, and from the path of muck and rock, we saw a raft of dark ducks in tight formation slowly sweep across the lake in front of us.