Woke up this morning to a rainy, windy Denmark. It's rained every day several times a day since I've been here, actually, but I don't mind and like it very much (not having to transport myself to a 9 to 5). Today D is going off to do some non-artist work, and I regret that he has to leave our cocoon. I want to stay in bed but I rouse myself and get up to offer moral support. I don't cook breakfast for him. It doesn't occur to me until it's too late. When he leaves I'm awash in conflicting emotions: indecision about when to leave for Paris to start our new life there, resolve to get writing, nostalgia for my circle of friends, wonder at being alone in an unfamiliar country whose language I don't speak or understand, paralysis at the thought of letting anyone read the ramblings I write. Who wants to read what I have to say? Who am I kidding? And time is passing. An approaching birthday and an email about next summer's college reunion remind me all too well.
The rain just began again.
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