Sunday, 1 February 2009 - 3:31 pm

Too quiet

Today was quiet. Today we moved on and hardly anyone spoke at all. I kept looking at the others and wishing that I knew what to say to them. I wish I could take the clouds off Thorpe’s expression, and the weight out of Sax’s. I wish I could unfold Sally’s attitude, and unfog the doctor’s. I wish we could sing together again, but no-one has the voice for it now.

I talked to Ben and he told me to give it time. They just needed to get used to each other, to work things out for themselves. I want to stick my oar in and pry open their issues, so that we can deal with them and get this over with. But he’s right; that’s selfish of me. I know that a part of my desire is caused by this tension; it reminds me too much of the time leading up to my mother’s departure. There’s a part of me that is screaming at me not to let it happen again, and another part that just wants it over already.

Ben said it would be all right, he said not to worry. I’m not sure he’s right, but that was what I needed to hear. I needed to know someone else was worried about this, and I needed to know that someone else thought it would turn out okay. It’s easy to feel like it’s just me here – just me and this blog, chasing around ideas and thoughts and feelings. It’s easy to wonder if I’m already alone and the group just hasn’t realised it yet.

I’m so glad that I have Ben to talk to. He always lets me go on about this stuff, always listens. I wish that he’d speak up more sometimes, but he’s a good friend.