IT’S over. This year of â¦ what shall I call it? The Year of Living Dangerously?
If anything I was timid, particularly upon realising that my new singleness meant I’d have to pick up the dead rats the cat brought in.
Minus the only other male, he clearly felt he had to step up his hunting and gathering.
Rats, light bulbs â they’d been blue jobs but now they were mine.
The Year of Magical Thinking? Gorgeous book, marvellous woman Joan Didion. But her husband had died. She’d lost a life, I’d only lost a way of life.
Death is a tragedy blamelessly bestowed; divorce is a mess you bring upon yourself. Still, her words resonated. The need to get “tears out of the way so I could act sensibly”. The recognition that “life changes in the instant. The ordinary instant.”