Saturday, 26 April 2003

Bah? Following on from that last post, I had the uncomfortable thought that maybe my writing is an all-too-accurate reflection of the real me, that it's actually revealing the real me to myself. Perhaps my inner thoughts are as discontinuous and halting as the words that fall onto the page? Perhaps I really have no great rage or passion? Perhaps my perceptions and values are so disappointingly white, middle class, conformist after all? So why don't I feel that way? 10:30:16 PM    comment []

Kids We're driving in heavy traffic yesterday, a bus in the lane next to us. The bus is close because the lanes are narrow. The bus driver honks, nothing too agressive though; I took it as sign that I'd drifted a little close and corrected slightly. No problem. Then Nat turns around and gasps in horror. Emma, all 2-1/2 years of her, has unclipped her harness and is kneeling up in her child seat, happily leaning half out the window. Aha: that would be why the bus driver honked. Emma manages something like that every few days to amaze us and scare us witless at the same time. I'm not sure whether I'm more astonished at the things that she does, or at the fact that she's managed to avoid doing herself any major damage. 12:09:36 AM    comment []