Too Comfortable to Wake

I walked home in the drizzle and noticed new green buds on the trees. I thought all the leaves had already come out, but nature surprised me. Evidently there is a pecking order to springtime greenery, with stalks from the grown coming out first, then shrubbery and now the trees.

Walking along the Perth Road I noticed large trunks with grey branches and light green nubs poking out. This was in lovely contrast to the darker green foliage on the shrubbery sitting at the bottom of the tree trunk.

I have LadyBohemia to thank for being more aware of nature, so when I got home I hung her little picture by my bed — right where a side table should be. It’s kind of low on the wall and looks a bit odd in an empty room with nothing but a mattress, a hanging rack, and piles of clothes, but I prefer it this way as it stands out more.

Fife came to the house tonight after Helen got home from work. They’ve arranged for her to get the kids off to school in the morning if he’s home for them in the afternoon until she’s in. Then he’ll head off to the cottage, or my flat. Helen suggested that her mum take care of the kids after school, so that Fife wouldn’t have to drive back and forth, but he insisted that he do the afternoon school run. They’ve put the house on the market, and once it sells he can then start looking for a place in the village. Although, he expressed concern that Helen might try to move the kids to Edinburgh, so he wants wait and see before buying a place. I didn’t ask how the paperwork for the divorce was going, as I try to steer clear of the subject. It makes him snippy and on edge.

He walked into the door to the flat yawning and he dropped his bag in the middle of the hallway. Standing in the middle of my empty living room he suggested a good place to put a sofa, and then curled up on the floor with his head in my lap.

As I stroked his hair, I asked how his day was, and he said his writing was going well. While he hasn’t gotten very far with the edits to book she’s supposed to be working on, the other ‘literary fiction’ novel is going quite well. He’s about a third of the way through. He said that he’s had to adjust the outline because there’s been some surprise character developments, and to this I laughed, ‘How can there be surprise character developments when you’re writing the novel?’

‘It’s a cliche, but the characters become their own entity and guide the story. An outline is really only a guide, the rest is written by the book itself.’

His eyes were closed as he said this, and he was slipping away as he talked. Fife’s now fast asleep on the floor next to me. His head had been in my lap for a while, then he stretched and rolled over. I don’t have the heart to wake him as he looks so sound. Maybe we’ll just sleep on the floor in the lounge tonight. He just looks too comfortable to wake.


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