Grey, and its Raining in Providence.

my toes are cold, my nose is chilled.  my fight has fled.  my knuckles are healing over, i can't even explain the choices to 'not-fight' and 'not-judge' that make up my internal dialouge at three in the morning when six drops of urine have awakened me.  i can't do the five-minute friday blitz today because i just can't be bothered to figure out linkages and the photo inclusion just about topped me out on my energy for the day... and i don't want to read about a lot of faith and handholding that i can't feel today. . . and i'm in a morning noon and night fight with the comparisons between myself and others and a disappointement in myself that i am not overcoming some of my adversities just by my own sheer will.  i think that should be possible but it has not been this week. tired of myself and my swollen fingers.  what is my shape? what shape am i changing into? what will my shape be when this babe rolls into the world? will it be a good and safe shape? am i shaped at all, or formless entirely?

my mother left yesterday to go to germany france and italy with her friend for 15 days. it was a surprise opportunity and i am happy for her wildness in her new retirement. .. i am also nervous that i will be without my mother during the birth of my child. but i am trying to focus on what i am doing right this second, and today, and so far, it isn't a laboring sort of day. i still have several weeks before the due date, but readiness and tunnelvision have arrived. mothers are tricky. 

what i have to talk about is weather. drear. wuthering heights.  wuthering.

i had 'coffee' with a friend josh of fixing the bathroom fame yesterday. it was very wonderful to have conversation be so easy, like rolling marbles down the ramp. 

i had an essay published from this here blog, by a high school friend that read the blog. go figure. but i don't know if there is any way to see it or look at it other than buying a magazine and i also am waiting to see it in print, so that i know it is real.  it has a surreal and unlikely feeling to it all.  the essay was a mashup of bits on kid fevers, so maybe this is why i feel it so lightly, it may belong to experiences past, amorphous fever nights. . .

and i am off, to watch my cats watching the chickens through the glass.  to watch my kid watch the tv through the airs of the overlarge room.  to watch and to wait. 
maybe the providential rain will move this way, and other things will slide into the space. a new shape.