Saturday, February 08, 2003

my watch still shows melbourne time.

i just haven't really felt the need to change it to central european time yet. i dont want to. changing it would be like accepting that i am back.
in the past, i sometimes changed my watch while still on the plane, or when on the train back home. not this time.

i can't and i don't want to.

it started on the plane. on the the way to hong kong i kept looking at it, thinking about my lover working, having a terrible day at the hospital. i kept hoping the patient who was pretty much dying when evan came in at 8am was still better again and that evan's day wasn't as horrible as it had started out.
when my watch showed 10pm, i thought about him finally being able to go home, walking along swanston street, turning into malop street, crossing through the park where the mad magpie always ogled us in the mornings and being home shortly thereafter.
i imagined him unlocking the door, dropping his bag and kicking off his shoes.
i imagined him getting beer from the fridge, walking upstairs and finding the note i had left, and my photo back on the nightstand and the freshly made bed (to avoid him being sad because of sheet changing, which is as sad as showering). i got sad thinking about him being alone in the room, his first night there alone.

later, in hong kong, walking around the airport in a daze, i kept looking at my watch and knew evan was asleep in his bed now, i knew what his sheets looked and smelled like, i imagined him lying there, his bear in the top right corner of the bed next to him, and i missed him, longed to be there and snuggle up to him from behind.

i still look at my watch and wonder what evan is doing. i try to imagine what his life is like that very moment. it connects us, my watch that is still showing melbourne time.

every night between 9 and 10 my time, i look at my watch and think about him starting his day.
i imagine him sitting in the kitchen reading the age and reluctantly having breakfast and coffee, his flatmate susie jumping around, hecticly ironing a blouse for the day.
i see him picking out a shirt and tie for the day, fixing his hair in the bathroom and sorting and picking up the things he needs from the nightstand (mobile, pass for the hospital, keys, change).
close to 10pm my time, i imagine him and his flatmates walking through the park with the magpie towards the hospital, passing the rose garden, once they've arrived at the hospital walking up the driveway to the resident's quaters. every morning, i send him an sms that time of the day to say good morning and wish him a good day.

when i wake up in the middle of the night, still struggling with jetlag, and see that it's just past noon in his town and timezone, i wonder whether he has got time to grab some lunch now and whether he's at the funky cafe down the road with some of the other interns. i wonder what stuffed toy is sitting on their table - there are no numbers for orders at this cafe, you get a stuffed toy instead. is it freddo this time or the purple dragon?

every morning when i wake up and my watch shows that it's 5pm where he is, i think about him still being at work, having one more hour to go, and wonder what he's doing, whether he's seeing patients, or dealing with any codes, or sitting somewhere writing discharge summaries, or maybe even playing ping-pong in resis, when there's nothing to do.

i am well aware that quite often, my guessing is off. that he's got the afternoon off and is getting his hair cut or working out when i wonder about him looking after patients, that i think about him getting up, when he's been up for ages already, that he's super busy on a day when i hope he's got spare time.

but i don't mind being wrong at all.
this is not about accuracy - it's about feeling a connection.

and i do feel a connection. i feel it right now, looking at my watch showing 4am, imagining him in his bed (knowing which sheets are on, imagining him wearing certain shorts, his old ragged "swot-cool for cats" t-shirt next to the bed on the floor because he was too warm), the blinds on the window down, his mobile blinking and flashing every few seconds in the corner where the powerpoint is.
i still wish i was there.

but looking at my watch, i am there.

i can see him and smell him and crawl over him to the wall side of the bed, lift the duvet and snuggle up to him, putting my arm around and my hand on his stomach.

in my mind, i am there.