The <insert her surname> Paradox

There should be some order to my thoughts. There isn't. I have begun to draft this particular blog four times now, and with each incarnation there is something found in the few notes I still possess that I have omitted.

"Still possess", you're right to think that it's a strange thing to say, but courtesy of my computer throwing a tantrum like a petulant child ten days ago, I've lost the vast majority of notes that I have written in the sixteen months of so that I have maintained this blog, along with the entire volume of correspondence that is something of a private concordance. Yes, dear one, that's what I meant when I said that it takes a brave man to admit his mistakes.

So yeah, I can vouch for the axiom that you dunno what you got 'till it's gone. I never realised how much I - not so much relied upon - but bounced ideas off and played around with those same ideas in my head ... but it's gone now, lost into the ether. And as much as I like to think that the footsteps behind me are invisible, it's a loss that unexpectedly cuts me deeper than most.

So, that's the preamble. Let's get on with the business of updating you folks on this life.

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I deleted my most recent blog entry after waking a little after one in the morning two days after I posted it, realising that I had written it far too quickly. I'm determined to rectify some of those errors. I mean, the sentiment was bang-on, but some of the skeletal thoughts really deserve some flesh. And as far as the not-so-delicately-encrypted subtext goes, I really honestly do mean it. I've already set aside the blue apple with your name on it.

The only sound in the house is the gentle tick of the clock on the kitchen wall. Seconds pass in the 'silence'. It's a little after eight-thirty in the morning at your house, and I wonder if you're preparing for the first shift of consecutive doubles. I hope they are as successful as last weekend. My phone's just here beside me. I wonder if you'll call when the day is done. It's not imperative; but it's the only promise I am going to hold you to, for now - just as you hold me to mine; a double-barrel doozy that's 50% complete.

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A car's just swooshed past and scared the crap out of me. The street's dead quiet, even for the very early hours of Sunday morning. I can't sleep. My circadian clock still hasn't QUITE adjusted to working in daylight hours again. And I can't go to sleep just yet anyway, as the generous dram of vintage scotch with a single ice cube that I poured over an hour ago still has to be drunk.

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Thirty-six hours later …

My lips curled into a smile first thing this morning. I wish it had been me that called you last night, because I would have had some choice words for you too…

But life goes on. I’m breaking my leave to attend the bushfires royal commission that’s in town this week.





It's still a little rushed, but it's the best I'm able to give you right now.


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B_stu.kay823
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