Right now my baby is pleading urgently for my attention and I'm sitting here typing...it feels like I've been bouncing around like a pinball all day, for him and for the rest of my family. So I refuse to listen to him for at least five minutes...not easy to do...
I'm not sure what I was trying to say yesterday about time, I must admit. And I doubt I'll be able to clarify things at the moment. So I'll write about Germania.
Germania is the name of a street in the neighborhood formerly known as Mint Hill, near the Lower Haight and Duboce Park. It's a narrow street, perhaps the width of one car; fine houses and condos line both sides of the street. It's one of those streets that is within throwing distance from a very busy commercial district, yet manages to retain the utter calm of a street largely overlooked by everyone, except, of course, the happy few who've found a way to live there.
Part of me will always dream of owning a little studio on a street like that, a place I could visit once a day for a few hours, to do nothing but read, write and gaze out the window. A place where time would seem to stop, to vanish, to evaporate.
Looking over my schedule from the last two months--what I wrote yesterday was false, I haven't had sixty minutes a day, since early July it's been more like twenty. So I'm no longer thinking about how to match my schedule to the baby's; I'd just like to impose sixty minutes of my pre-pregnancy life on his. And work up from there.
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