Wednesday, September 20, 2006


I've just gotten back from taking Indigo for his late-night walk. Or rather, he's taken me - we march down to the grass, have a cursory sniff of the first few trees, and that's that, thank you very much, quick-time back to the house. The final training attempt of the night is undertaken; "Sit."
Just give me the biscuit.
fine, I'll go stand on my bed. Stuff biscuits.
What do you want? Why are you pushing at me like that, give me the freaking biscuit already.
"Oh, alright, have the sodding biscuit."

I'm in a peculiar sort of limbo, not sure whether I'm starting next week or not, whether I'm supposed to be attending meetings or getting myself a job. I walk the dog, make earrings, talk to the bunny, walk the dog... all to the background of radio four and the rumble of the tube. I shop, returning to find Indigo lying where I left him standing nearly an hour before. I feel cruel for leaving him but I know he's not the sort of dog who will lie quietly outside sainsburys. I buy food for him, forgetting my own groceries in an attempt to tempt a palate that I suspect is only fussy because he's seeing how far I'll go to see that he eats. Oxo is rejected in favour of bisto, biscuits over weetabix despite the assurances of the rescue that most greyhounds like cereal for breakfast. Babybel are taken and delicately dropped on the floor, biscuits are taken and then crunched in his bed, leaving a trail of crumbs over the floor of my bedroom. The hoover is eyed with suspicion. Mozarella is consumed with gusto, cheddar is preferred, and carrots are really only acceptable after a few hours soaking in lukewarm gravy.

I wonder what I'll do this time next week - how early will I have to get up to ensure he gets a good walk before I leave for lectures? I have to buy a bike pump so I can cycle to camden instead of squeezing myself onto an already over-full and under-ventilated bendy bus for a tedious journey spent clasping a clammy yellow pole and trying not to hit anyone with my bag while desperately avoiding everyone else's eyes in the peculiar manner of the english on public transport. I will cycle through the park instead, even though I haven't cycled in years, don't own a bag suitable for carrying on a bike - I will have to get a rucksack or something - and I'm not even sure of the way.

I can't believe it's this close. Part of me doesn't want to go back, wants to live a life of not doing very much at all, but part of me is bored, needing something to stimulate the dusty spaces of my brain with the tedium of pH balance and protein synthesis. Even though I know what's coming, have the notes and fool myself into thinking I actually already know most of it. I'm not longer sure I do, though. I'm not sure I ever did.

Part of me wants to pick up and leave - take my dog and my bunny and pack my clothes into a suitcase and just go. Except I don't know where. I don't even know why; I've spent the last year longing for somewhere permanent-feeling, four walls I can call my own and yet the moment I'm withing them I want something more. Perhaps it isn't the need to leave, more the longing for an unidentifiable something - someone - that might complete this space. Until someone enters my four walls, and I am reminded how much I value this sancuary from the world.

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