july 21, 2003.
Our home life has stabilized, more or less. On Saturday, Peter came by with eviction papers for Brad, and we watched him prop them against the door of the empty basement apartment. The Boy & I immediately took off for Dirk's house, not wanting to be home when Brad found the envelope. Since then it's been pretty quiet.
Before Peter came by, Brad was at our door, talking hoarsely through the wood and taping a note to the door. He maintains that FCN is dangerously crazy (which we certainly won't dispute), and that he has a right to live here. I refused to open the door, and clutched the chopping knife that I had just been using on an unsuspecting clove of garlic. I'm starting to feel sorry for him, as sorry as I can feel for a man who's held my peace of mind hostage for 4 days. Is this Stockholm Syndrome or Christian charity or just perspective on someone who hasn't been a problem in days? Dunno.
Inasmuch as such a thing is possible, yesterday was perfect. I woke up early, rested & calm from a night safe in my own bed. When it was time for church, I put on my new dark red dress (new clothes are fun!), and a suddenly-perfect necklace the Boy bought me for Christmas that never matched anything before. My mom was late, but in a good mood. The three of us barrelled into the 5th pew just in time for the processional hymn, and spent the next hour listening to Robyn & watching the understated opulence of Timothy Eaton Memorial Church. (That building is a temptation to the sin of covetousness, if nothing else.)
Me: Timothy Eaton, the most Anglican of all United Churches.
Dirk: (pretending to be the Anglican Church) No, we name our churches after saints. Unlike the United Church, who will take anyone's money.
Me: (sneering) My name is Dirk, and I owe everything I know about the United Church to Agamemnon's prejudices.
Dirk: (laughing) Touché.
After the sermon, my mom took pictures of us with Robyn (who called them the "pre-baptism photos") and Robyn told us that she'd made time for a visit to the Fluevog store the previous day. (She makes me smile.) One last round of hugs and the Boy, Mom & I slithered off to Fran's for lunch (sorry, Paris). Then it was a matinee of Russian Ark, the really unusual single-shot art film about the Hermitage Museum. Speaking of coveting, I sincerely coveted the Stranger's black Hamlet outfit, although I realized that since I am not a man, incredibly slender or at least 6 feet tall, I couldn't carry it off with quite so much élan. Some of those dresses were just stunning, and the level of detail was astounding. An amazing example of choreography, if nothing else.
We came home afterward, and I lolled in bed for a few hours, fully intending to take a nap but never quite managing it. Then supper of leftover squash soup, cartoons, and more lying on the floor. There was smooching as well.
I love me some summer vacation. Going to sleep seems almost superfluous.
Well, that's weird.
This afternoon we went to the midwife. She was running late, so I was able to leisurely finish the burger on which I'd been burning my mouth in a frantic attempt to cram it down my gullet before the appointment. Then I weighed myself. Remember how I said I felt like I was losing pill fat and gaining baby weight? Well, I've lost weight overall. 5 pounds since last month, to be exact.
It's not like I haven't been eating. And it's not like I've been exercising a lot. But my appetite has been going waaaaay down ever since I got off the pills, and I suppose that my body is shifting. I just keep telling myself that if I had been knocked up at my pre-pill weight, I wouldn't be at my current weight for another few months. That helps a little. Also, my uterus is growing normally & my bellybutton is still shrinking upward. I look more pregnant than I did in June.
Still, because I'm me & because I worry excessively, I'm wondering if the Sprout wants... You know. More. More greens, more squash, more milk, more meat. More cheese, more fruit, more yoghurt, more peanut butter. More love, more martinis, more cigars, more sequins, more John Waters movies. (I guess not.)
The Boy couldn't get his laptop to work, so there will be no .wav of the SproutBeat for at least another month. Pixie, you can just blame your brother, who didn't want to bring the dictaphone.
