Thursday 15th December
I wandered back to skool today to take in an exhibition of my pupils' work. It was so satisfying to see that everything had gone so well; I know it wasn't my work but I still felt intensely proud.
I wandered back home in the cold clutching a 4 pint bottle of milk and feeling so very good. My ears filled with sounds from my Zen, my coat pulled tight up around my neck with just enough of a gap to make me shiver. I walked very slowly, savouring the night and swinging my milk as I went; humming along to Old Cape Cod and feeling pretty damned wonderful.
The sky was clear in amongst patches of mackerel cloud and I watched an airplane slowly crawl across the full moon leaving a moonlit contrail. It was beautiful.
I keep looking at and touching my bruises; thinking to myself someone made those marks on my body and dissecting how they made them. Was their hand this way or that way? Was it from their grip or their weight?
I like to see the bruises poking out of my sleeves as I do the washing up, blunt and dark against my skin under the fluorescent strip lights. Sometimes I forget about their existance but then I brush my arm against something and I remember. When they fade I will miss them.
I have been without interesting bruises for a very long time. I wear them like small badges of pride.
So wrong.
