The New Sense

Saturday, August 17, 2002

Phew, I'm glad the week's over! The break-in and Dave's party really took it out of me. And being pregnant too, I guess. Still, I was a good girl on Thursday night. Just a couple of drinks to be in the spirit of the occasion, but by 10 no-one was straight enough to tell the difference. Dave did well though, I've got to admit. Still standing after 12 rounds — the Ali of Olga's.
B— had a great time, though he got swept up in the waves of shots and turned all slurry by the end. Everyone seemed to think he's cool. It was so tempting to tell them about the baby, but I managed to keep quiet about it. I'm just so proud of him. He's good for my ego.
I noticed that every time Sam tried to take a Polaroid where B— would be in the shot he realised because of his sense and moved out of the way, or scratched his forehead or something, no matter how drunk he was. It was like a reflex. I looked at them at the end of the evening and he only got caught once. Even then you can't see his whole face.
[I managed to get the photo from Sam a couple of weeks after B— left. You can see it by clicking here.]
Yesterday it was hilarious to see Dave come in for his shift looking like he'd spent the night under a tree. Hmmm… I should ask him about that… maybe he did!
I'm writing this in Second Cup. Good for the air conditioning. B— is at the casino. It wasn't a good idea for me to go with him this time.
I'm getting pretty excited about the baby — first ultrasound next Thursday. The morning sickness is getting like a running joke though. B— doesn't even react any more when I burst into the bathroom while he's brushing his teeth and retch into the toilet. I hope the doctor can prescribe something for that.
It's really weird to think that something is growing in me. I picture it like an alien or something, and I can't get my head around the fact that I started like that too. How come it seems unnatural, when obviously it's the most natural thing in the world. There wouldn't even be any nature without reproduction, but now it's happening to me it feels so fake, so unbelievable. It also seems unrealistic. There's a baby at the next table, but I just can't quite come to terms with me having one of my own in a few months time. Does that mean that I'm not ready for it, or do lots of woman feel like this when they first get pregnant? Strange stuff. And I also find it strange how automatic the whole thing is. Now it's started, that's it — chances are it'll continue for the next eighty years or more. Wow. I never thought about how strange life is. No, not life, but living. Living is weird. And it's unstoppable. Life just does what it does. When I think about how much I studied artistic creation and how little it relates to natural creation it blows my mind. No matter whether an artist works from emotion or rationality every stroke of the brush requires an effort, an intention. Natural creation has no intention. Quite the opposite — it requires a huge intention to stop living. It's completely contradictory. It kind of makes art seem ass-backwards. If only artists could just plant a seed an let it grow like what's happening inside me. And artistic creation can never come anywhere close to the richness of nature. It looks obvious, written down here, but it's phenomenal when you think about it. Even the life work of a Picasso or a Pollack just seems like the same painting done over and over again compared to the life of a single creature. I'm sitting here in a café being a million times more creative than the greatest artist in the world. Maybe that's why so many more men than women are creators — it's just womb-envy. I can't believe I'm the first person to come up with that, but it's not bad for a hot August Saturday.

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posted by Sara