Tuesday, 10 July 2012


I've moved house which is why I haven't been writing. No one writes when they're moving house. It's impossible. When I had to leave Virgil's in exile I couldn't do much more than write. All those thoughts and feelings. Now I'm busy home-making although I still cry a great deal. Standing on the train platform in tears the other day, I thought: 'If anyone asks me, I'll say I'm crying for Andy Murray.'

When physical certainties and geographies disintegrate and become fluid, words won't catch them. I don't know if I'll stay in this place. I don't think I have the energy or commitment required to make it what I'd need it to be. I think I may have made a hasty decision but it's done. There is no rewind button.  

At least having moved once I know I can move again. I'll just call up my trusty removals man and say, 'Hakim, come and get me.' He moved me when I moved in with Virgil and he moved me when I moved out. He was solicitous. Virgil was at work and I wandered through the quiet, hot flat, putting the last of my things into boxes, bringing in the window boxes that wouldn't survive his care. I wept as I did these things. I was so tired. I had woken both of us up at five in the morning crying and worrying that my bedroom in the new place would be too small for my things.

I thought, 'Is this what I wanted? Was Virgil going on a date with Sarah and the argument that followed really the catalyst that started all this?' Then I thought, 'At least if I decide I don't want to have an open relationship it will be easier to break up now.' And then, because on an emotional level it really did feel as though we were splitting up, I cried and cried.

Fortunately Virgil wasn't there to ask. The answer is that nothing is that simple. The two removals men politely ignored me. They must see this sort of thing regularly.

We haven't split up. Yet. But hopefully we won't. Virgil stayed with me on the first night. We made cautious love the next morning, wondering how much my new flatmate could hear through the thin ceiling. On Sunday we braved the hell that is Ikea at the weekend. I bought a desk, a chair, everything I need to sit and write and work and a few more things besides. Virgil bought a hundred candles for a party. Standing outside many hours later waiting for a taxi, we hugged each other. Even though I had made us wait unnecessarily in the wrong queue for half an hour, Virgil said: 'I adore you.'

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