Landing hard on concrete

Last night I tripped and fell. Woken out of a deep sleep, my toe caught in the hem of my baggy pyjama bottoms as I stepped over the barrier I constructed to put some distance between the puppies and me whist we shared a small space in the studio. We had all moved there me, temporarily whilst builders worked on my house, and them more permanently until they moved to their new homes. I fell hard on my knees. I cursed and swore and wept, not for the searing pain of the fall, but for everything around it.

i was reminded  that I was not the person he was last year: vibrant; off overseas, presenting at conferences, interviewing celebrity chefs, finishing my thesis, renovating my house. I was engaging, vibrant, smart and happy. In this dull space between finishing my thesis, finishing the house and whatever the future holds I spend my days doing nothing very much.

I wept long and loud: the puppies, the poo, the wee soaked newspapers I scrape up hourly, the cramped cold space we share, falling alone.

I have gone as far as I can go only to find there is less there than what I had before.

When I had finished crying, I got up, scraped up the soggy papers into a garbage bag, mopped and deodorized the floor, replaced the newspaper with beach towels, warmed milk and fed the puppies, then I gathered them all up and washed and dried them with a warm hand towel and sat with them in their bed until they settled and went back to sleep. Then I had a hot shower, changed into my Mr Big PJs and got back into bed wishing I had thought to put Panadol into the basket of food I packed for my week in the studio. I checked the time, 2.15 am, curled into a ball, my knees hot from the pain and cried myself back to sleep.

Last night was not the only time I have fallen hard on concrete. At Aireys Inlet, living in the beach house, just after Simon and I separated, I tripped and fell, landing on the hard concrete floor at the bottom of the stairs. I wept then for the wasted years, the cold, the wet winter and the sadness I had been too busy to acknowledge.