I haven’t had a lot of time to write of late. There has been so much to do, so many people to see and places to be. Work has been a bit stressful and the course I am doing all consuming – in many good ways and some that are less healthy and certainly not sustainable. Self-care has gone out of the window. I haven’t been to meditation in months. I haven’t been exercising. I haven’t been eating well. I have been drinking more than I know is wise. I have been sleeping badly and when I do manage to sleep I am plagued with bad dreams. I keep having to put my friends off, and I haven’t been seeing my parents nearly as much as I would like. My body hurts all over from lack of care. I am exhausted.
On top of not allowing myself time to write, or to read anything but a text book, there are all the bigger tasks I should be doing – all jostling for position to berate me for my lack of progress. I need to do my tax accounts, I need to look into a builder to get some work done on the house that is years overdue. My grass is too long. The windows are filthy. I need to get down to the writing project I promised I would do with my dad. I need to sew up the holes in my clothes before people start to notice.
I need to ……..
Oh hell! If you need me, I’ll be hiding in the cupboard under the stairs in a box – a box of things that needs sorting for the car boot sale *starts to sob*Read More »
If I had a cat he would be called Stevens. As things stands I don’t have any pets – but nevertheless, this is an understanding we have in our household. That one day, Cat Stevens may become a family member.
When I was a young girl in the 70s, we used to go out for drives in the country at the weekend, legs scorching on faux-leather seats, with the warm smell of my dad’s plaid shirt in my nostrils, and our favourite 8-tracks on the stereo. Read More »
I was delighted when I was asked last year if I would be happy to contribute to a book about childlessness that was being written by Lesley Pyne. Lesley’s website was the first place I ever released a piece of my own writing into the wild – when I felt compelled to tell my own story – one of the hardest, but most important things I’ve ever done.Read More »
I sat, and as I breathed, I looked around inside my head. And in there, there were dark masses. Masses I had created, formed, sculpted, thought into life. Some of them were jagged, some of them too hot to touch, some of them now smoothed through the tossing in my mind’s waves but heavy nevertheless. I looked at these dark masses and I said …
“It is time”
I said to the accumulation of anger, formed from the frustrating exchanges. That cooling lava of irritation, of injustice and unexpressed indignation. With steam still rising from its surface …
“It is time”
I said to that boulder of sadness, about that sad thing, the thing that will always be sad but is taking up space I now need back …
“It is time”
I said to the shame, those stinging leaves of derision, those thorns of remorse, that I cultivated and watered with bitter tears …
And so I suddenly stopped, in the middle of the street, and in that instant I saw it all. The illusion that we all occupy. That busy street, full of people and puddles and pictures we believe into reality. Who are all these humans? Who are these actors, these holograms? Who are the hoodlums, and who the heroes? Who amongst them will have drama, who trauma, who triumph?
And I wish for a moment I could step off set, consult the script, see it all from behind the lens. Pause the action and place myself at some other moment, perhaps in some other street, where would that illusion lead me?Read More »