Cover of novel The Complex, by Michael Walters

Swede

Woke up late. My son is in Sydney for three weeks and when I walk past his bedroom the quiet inside makes me sad. I’m trying to be more mindful as I go about my low-key morning. Last night I watched the first half of Let the Right One In before my wife and daughter got home from a New Year’s Eve party. This morning I read the first third of Written on the Body, mostly while sitting at the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee. I like being at home. It’s been a busy Christmas.

I took a break and listened to Wolf Alice on the expensive headphones I bought years ago and never used. Music sounds amazing through them, but they are heavy, make my ears hot and the cable has a squeak when I move my head. On a whim, and because the cable was long enough, I did some stretching while listening to the last track on Visions of a Life. My body felt tight and neglected. I wondered if I could do yoga while listening to Queens of the Stone Age. I felt stone-aged. I wanted visions for my life.

On the chopping board I have left a swede and yesterday’s leftover braised red cabbage. There is only frozen turkey to have with it, and that’s, well, frozen. It’s the intention I like. I am going to cook the swede and make it delicious. I have to work on my meal planning though. I wish I had a pork chop or a steak. C’est la vie.

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31 Dec 2017

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2 Jan 2018