Distances

Someone travels and drags along their baggage. Or they get stuck somewhere overnight with a voucher for food and an unexpected bed. Or they are freed up. To feel normal. Like the day to day it used to be. When you’d leave the house, do things, come back, maybe relax upstairs with a book. Someone might have made dinner for you. Or had interesting things to tell you, the kind that get said and float away, not remarkable or memorable. Just the hum of things. Maybe they had to get up early and set the alarm for 5, but the clock is 20 minutes ahead so they can use snooze to delay. It used to be the most irritating thing they did until it stopped. Well, maybe not the most. But it was annoying. You put up with it because it was so good to see them put themselves together and drive off for the day. Leaving to go into the world. Like people do. And then there were the things you always did. Small affections. Shows on tv. When they planned the groceries, and made all the food for the dog in a big industrial operation every couple of months. They liked to organise things. Like help you with packing, because they were good at folding and figuring out the best way to get everything to fit, without getting crushed in transit. They thought of things like snacks en route, or all the things to remember before getting out of the house for a big trip or getting the house tidied or done up. It was nice how they could look at a space and see it reconfigured in an instant.

Someone mentioned that to me today and I got angry. Or maybe I was already angry.

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