I’m looking at the dozens of books scattered on the floor. The same ones that used to be in perfect alphabetical order on the bookshelves before little Attila the Hun entered my life. The idea of jumping off the window doesn’t sound so wrong now.
Motherhood or not my deadline is in 4 hours and if I do not finish the book in time it won’t be published and if it won’t be published I might lose my job, not taking into consideration the fact Henry will kill me.
I stare at my laptop, empty screen, it cannot be good. I’m supposed to be almost finished with the chapter. So far I only managed to write its unappealing title and 6 pathetic pages. U2 are playing in the background but Bono is of no inspiration today. If I could only come up with an idea and start writing.
I hear giggles and a little hand takes me back to reality. It cannot be feeding time again. It cannot!
I look down and my boy is smiling at me, he giggles, almost swimming over my extremely expensive art books. Using his bizarre language he’s telling me he wants me to pick him up. I’m stuck at home with my bundle of joy, or bundle of jay as I like to call him every now and then, almost every day, love him dearly but I sometimes feel my communication skills lack proper practice. In order to have a real conversation I have to wait for his father to come back.
I smile again; to speak the truth he has never been that much of talker either. And when he does he has the vocabulary of a 15 year old on speed. But we do not chose who you fall in love with.
I pick him up and I take him downstairs. I’m feeding him when the phone rings, so I am again multitasking.
“Hello Mon, how is going?
“Hello Emma. You don’t really wanna know. I have so much work to do, and kids should come with a warning. Today I am giving him up – on second thought – I am giving both of them up for free. Are you interested? To make my offer more tempting I could also add my famous and yet secret brownie recipe and I could come and clean up your house for a decade”
Emma is laughing and I can hear she’s busy too.
“Thanks but no thanks, rain check! I am taking Elwood to the park, what if I come and take Attila too – I cannot believe I called him so, I’m so sorry! That poor boy will start answering to that name soon if we all don’t stop calling him so! Let me baby-sit for you, it sounds like you could use some time to work on your stuff”.
“If I didn’t have a gorgeous partner and I wasn’t straight, I would simply fall in love with you”
“No problem, see you in a bit”.
I start waltzing around the room, he laughs and I sing “I can see the light at the end of the tunnel” on the “Tea for two” music.
The house is so peaceful now, all my notes are in perfect order, my books back on the shelves and the chapter completed and ready to be emailed. The control freak is back!
I fix myself some herbal tea and I wait for my men to come home.
(2 years before)
I cannot believe it’s raining again. But I need to hurry. Embankment is full of tourists waiting for the rain to stop but I need to get to the Globe before the lecture starts. Crossing Hungerford Bridge I can see the Royal Festival Hall and the National Film Theatre – note to self, do not forget about the Italian Film Festival this week-end. The Thames runs peacefully ignoring the troubles of us human but there is nothing romantic in rushing along the South Bank in a pouring rain. When I get there the doors are still open, someone up there must really, really love me.
I leave my umbrella with the guy at the entrance and I enter the large conference room. As usual there are loads students (some good may come from making some events mandatory), some scholars and few actors. I say hello to the ones I know and I head towards three free seats placing my bag and laptop on one of them.
“Is this seat taken?”
I can only think I will have to move all my shit again when she says “if you feel like sharing this seat I’ll put my stuff next to yours and we can pretend we are keeping it for someone who is OBVIOUSLY running late”.
“Sounds like a plan to me”.
Lecture is finally over and I am always amazed on how long people can talk about the smallest variations between Shakespeare’s first folio and in-quarto. But who am I to judge how people make their living?
“I’m Emma by the way, how did you like it?”
“Three hours of my life I am never gonna get back, and my biological clock is ticking like there’s no tomorrow” and I laugh.
We move to the nearby café chatting and getting to know each other.
“So are you single”?
I look at Emma almost chocking on my frappucino. “Yes I am and NO, I do not wish to meet… let me guess… a friend of yours, or no-no-no, even better, a friend of or possibly your boyfriend’s best friend. Am I right? Thanks but computer says NO. I don’t want you to fix me up with someone you think might be perfect for me. I have some sort of magic magnet to attract all the available losers on the London area and I can sometimes work my magic on the other side of the tunnel too. Believe me, I don’t need your help. I am a pro screwing up my love life!”
“That’s not the spirit! He IS perfect for you. To be true he is perfect for almost anyone. Handsome, tall, blue eyes, shit-load of money, sensitive…”
“And this jewel of England is still single because……….” And I stare waiting for some pathetic explanation but she is saved by her cell phone.
Judging from her expressions I guess is her boyfriend.
Motherhood or not my deadline is in 4 hours and if I do not finish the book in time it won’t be published and if it won’t be published I might lose my job, not taking into consideration the fact Henry will kill me.
I stare at my laptop, empty screen, it cannot be good. I’m supposed to be almost finished with the chapter. So far I only managed to write its unappealing title and 6 pathetic pages. U2 are playing in the background but Bono is of no inspiration today. If I could only come up with an idea and start writing.
I hear giggles and a little hand takes me back to reality. It cannot be feeding time again. It cannot!
I look down and my boy is smiling at me, he giggles, almost swimming over my extremely expensive art books. Using his bizarre language he’s telling me he wants me to pick him up. I’m stuck at home with my bundle of joy, or bundle of jay as I like to call him every now and then, almost every day, love him dearly but I sometimes feel my communication skills lack proper practice. In order to have a real conversation I have to wait for his father to come back.
I smile again; to speak the truth he has never been that much of talker either. And when he does he has the vocabulary of a 15 year old on speed. But we do not chose who you fall in love with.
I pick him up and I take him downstairs. I’m feeding him when the phone rings, so I am again multitasking.
“Hello Mon, how is going?
“Hello Emma. You don’t really wanna know. I have so much work to do, and kids should come with a warning. Today I am giving him up – on second thought – I am giving both of them up for free. Are you interested? To make my offer more tempting I could also add my famous and yet secret brownie recipe and I could come and clean up your house for a decade”
Emma is laughing and I can hear she’s busy too.
“Thanks but no thanks, rain check! I am taking Elwood to the park, what if I come and take Attila too – I cannot believe I called him so, I’m so sorry! That poor boy will start answering to that name soon if we all don’t stop calling him so! Let me baby-sit for you, it sounds like you could use some time to work on your stuff”.
“If I didn’t have a gorgeous partner and I wasn’t straight, I would simply fall in love with you”
“No problem, see you in a bit”.
I start waltzing around the room, he laughs and I sing “I can see the light at the end of the tunnel” on the “Tea for two” music.
The house is so peaceful now, all my notes are in perfect order, my books back on the shelves and the chapter completed and ready to be emailed. The control freak is back!
I fix myself some herbal tea and I wait for my men to come home.
(2 years before)
I cannot believe it’s raining again. But I need to hurry. Embankment is full of tourists waiting for the rain to stop but I need to get to the Globe before the lecture starts. Crossing Hungerford Bridge I can see the Royal Festival Hall and the National Film Theatre – note to self, do not forget about the Italian Film Festival this week-end. The Thames runs peacefully ignoring the troubles of us human but there is nothing romantic in rushing along the South Bank in a pouring rain. When I get there the doors are still open, someone up there must really, really love me.
I leave my umbrella with the guy at the entrance and I enter the large conference room. As usual there are loads students (some good may come from making some events mandatory), some scholars and few actors. I say hello to the ones I know and I head towards three free seats placing my bag and laptop on one of them.
“Is this seat taken?”
I can only think I will have to move all my shit again when she says “if you feel like sharing this seat I’ll put my stuff next to yours and we can pretend we are keeping it for someone who is OBVIOUSLY running late”.
“Sounds like a plan to me”.
Lecture is finally over and I am always amazed on how long people can talk about the smallest variations between Shakespeare’s first folio and in-quarto. But who am I to judge how people make their living?
“I’m Emma by the way, how did you like it?”
“Three hours of my life I am never gonna get back, and my biological clock is ticking like there’s no tomorrow” and I laugh.
We move to the nearby café chatting and getting to know each other.
“So are you single”?
I look at Emma almost chocking on my frappucino. “Yes I am and NO, I do not wish to meet… let me guess… a friend of yours, or no-no-no, even better, a friend of or possibly your boyfriend’s best friend. Am I right? Thanks but computer says NO. I don’t want you to fix me up with someone you think might be perfect for me. I have some sort of magic magnet to attract all the available losers on the London area and I can sometimes work my magic on the other side of the tunnel too. Believe me, I don’t need your help. I am a pro screwing up my love life!”
“That’s not the spirit! He IS perfect for you. To be true he is perfect for almost anyone. Handsome, tall, blue eyes, shit-load of money, sensitive…”
“And this jewel of England is still single because……….” And I stare waiting for some pathetic explanation but she is saved by her cell phone.
Judging from her expressions I guess is her boyfriend.
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