AUGUST 29

My misfortune needs caresses.

SEPTEMBER 2

A woman from the foundation came today to touch my body and give me instructions for the birth. Things I’m going to feel. When to go to the clinic, that kind of thing. M was at my side the whole time and offered to go into the delivery room with me. I told him it isn’t necessary, I told him I’ll do it alone.

SEPTEMBER 4

Hopefully the baby won’t come on my birthday. That would be horrible. In such a case, he’ll be the same sign as my dad and me. Today I took a long shower and pulled chunks of dirt from my body. I scrubbed my body and black chunks fell from my skin. I cut my pubic hair without being able to see what I was cutting. I squeezed my breasts a little, but no milk came out. I saw the baby moving and felt relieved to be able to give him to someone who wants him. My heart is little, I thought, and then thought it’s too big and then told myself that this whole matter of the heart is a cruel idea. And the matter of love, too. But no, the matter of love isn’t an idea, there are people who love and people who don’t love. And there are people like me who can do both with similar ease.

SEPTEMBER 6

Fragments of the kingdom of the living. I don’t know what I dreamed, but I woke up with this phrase and thought, again, about that vision: bodies coming in through the walls. I also thought about the moment of the retreat, about how things acquired a contiguity, a delicious immersion that allowed me to understand everything. I read a beautiful scene that fills me with excitement: an old man is polishing a glass while a sunbeam crosses his happy little body, the last afternoon beam. The first night I was with the man from the cave I’d taken ecstasy with my friends and knew the night brought something immense. Damn, I miss my friends and the speed my red skates reached on the ice.

SEPTEMBER 8

I drew a baby. I drew the face of a baby. I’m ready.

SEPTEMBER 10

I’ve been thinking about happiness, about whether some sort of happiness will be possible for me. Today M brought a beautiful woman over to eat, one with wide hips and green eyes. She didn’t ask anything but looked at me tenderly. We talked about everything as if my belly didn’t exist. She’s a pianist. In the end she asked if she could touch me, and she did so with a sweetness that moved me to tears. She was also moved but didn’t say a single word.

SEPTEMBER 12

I agonize. But it seems like he isn’t ready. The contractions are spasms, they’re ocean waves, it’s the hole that wants its solitude back.

SEPTEMBER 13

My flesh is sad. I feel this. My flesh is dry. Every day I repeat to myself as a mantra this baby is not mine, this time will stay behind. My flesh is dry and blotchy, my hair is falling out. The pillow is covered in hair in the morning. I collect and throw the hair out the window. My hair flies away, suspended in the air, it goes away.