mothers day

I've been feeling a bit bitter about the whole thing lately. The plans and the waiting and the obstacles KT and I have faced. Well, sad. I was in Myer in Hornsby the other day. Um, I did actually grow up in the old Horner, but that is no reason to go there on a Friday morning at age 35 and look for a mothers day gift. My mother, despite saying clever, witty things like " The good thing about Hornsby is that you can always leave.", insists on going back there monthly to see her old doctor. So I was in Hornsby Myer looking at disgusting dressing gowns and I saw -across the way in the kids section- a sleeveless parker for a two or three year old. It was gorgeous and I wanted to buy it. And a sob came up and a quick tear came out, and then I was fine.

It was ok. I'm ok with this sadness. I think it means I'm alright. It is quite thorough and sometimes productive (unlike the deadening, useless feeling of depression). Sadness of this sort often comes in big shops, I find, like I am a character in a television series. I feel like a "woman". I had a seriously big cry in the knitting section of Liverpool spotlight once. Liverpool is where I was, two and a half years ago, when the first miscarriage started. I spent deathly minutes looking for a medical centre there and talking to a very odd doctor who told me to drive myself home but not to go over any bumps. So I went through a "Nam Flashback" phase whenever I revisited Liverpool for a while there, but I am past that now. The good thing about Liverpool is you can always stage a production of The Leaving of Liverpool.