Having Survived

I read some of my old blogs the other night and realized I mention sugar and porn on a disproportionate basis.  To explain:  I do not watch or surf for internet porn.  And I am addicted to sugar despite all daily pledges to the contrary.  I am hoping my writing/yoga routine will help dispense with the sugar habit, but as I write I am really thinking of the delicious chocolate cake left in our freezer from Christmas.  Eating a piece last night may have contributed to middle-of-the-night insomnia, though, so I am wary. 

The yoga routine is going well; the writing is also going, but it is hard to not feel frustrated at not acheiving the level of writing I had when, you know, I had two years just to write in a writing program.  Tonight I wouldn't mind writing poetry, but Kirk has the hockey game on, and I am too cold to move away from the fireplace to my office upstairs.  Plus, I should go to bed soon, as both Anja and I have been ill since Christmas.  I have been blaming myself all week for being a terrible mother because the holdiays have been a trial, but as much as I hover over her, I didn't put two and two together until today, one day after starting her on antibiotics for a double ear infection and sinusitis, when she is my child again.  Gone is the zombie-like pallor from her cheeks and the recurrent fever, back is her appetite (she has survived on a bite here and there since boxing day), and back is her cheery, incessantly chattery, not whiny personality.  I, on the other hand, have had a sore throat since Christmas, but a strep test came back negative.  I have been ridiculously tired, but again, this is probably also a result of being woken up four or five times a night for the past 10 days.  A few nights ago, she woke up at 1, 1:30, 2, 2:30, 3, and 4, saying "Mummy, but I am so,so, so, so lonely all by myself," only to tell me at 5 that her ears hurt.  Thank you very much.  In any case, I don't feel quite myself, and am wondering if I am starting to become slightly anemic, as I ran out of my iron supplements three weeks ago and have been too tired to get a new bottle.  Irony anyone?

Kirk also had a very hard week as he is now a "senior" resident, and worked 8-7 Monday and Tuesday, then Wednesday to Thursday morning, Friday to Saturday morning, and Sunday to Monday morning.  Essentially, he worked 94 hours in 6 days and slept every second night. 

A friend was describing a relationship book to me the other day and identifiying the usual patterns of destructive behaivour between spouses, and two problems for me arose.  First, we don't seem to see enough of each other to have patterns these days.  Second, I am too tired to care about fixing the problems we do have.  Or, maybe that's not it, but maybe I am just resigned to things the way they are, as in, we have been together twelve years, and I know certain things aren't about to change.  It helps to keep the disappointments at a minimum, but I'm not entirely sure this is healthy or not. 

I've been thinking about what a strange narrative marriage really is (and trying, unsuccessfully, to write a poem about it), and how both the grudges and the small, quiet, content moments become the story we tell ourselves about our life again and again.  I am thinking of our one night away this summer for our anniversary when we went up to Wakefield, Qc, and went to a concert at the famous Black Sheep Inn.  And in how moments like this, Kirk is everything I love.  He gets so transported by music (and a few good beers).  How rare and wonderful it was to share that moment, the slow summer river running just outside the door. (If, by the way, you are interested in a very good folksy kind of album, download "Between Trains" by Bop Ensemble from i-tunes).

I've been also thinking alot about risk, and living the creative life, and the magic of doing something again and again and again and finally mastering it (see above album) just for the love of it, and I want that kind of life for myself.  I am so much happier that way, instead of constantly with students about their attitudes and comma splices.  So, I am trying to set up some goals for myself in the next year so maybe, just maybe, I won't have to go back to this job after babe is born.

p.s.  I don't think Santa ruse is going to last very long in our household.  Point one:  "Mummy, why did Santa use the same wrapping paper as us?"  Point two:  "Mummy, why is there a box for my dollhouse?"  And point three when today we were in Chapters, "Mummy, why did Santa bring my dollhouse to the store too?"  "Well, I guess he had extras from Christmas."  Several cha-chas later, I think I have it under control, but have to much more careful next year....