so sit by the river for the last time

I know I can come back, whenever I want

there's a bench, you see - it's for anyone, anytime

me, at some future time

the river was swollen to almost overflowing tonight, reflecting the night lights of the city from one edge of the bank to the other: all the colours from all the buildings and those of the street lights and the windows of the underground train going over the river - the same lights and colours as the last time I sat there, the same lights and colours as will be there the next time I sit at night
.

there were people on the piazza, spilling in and out of the pub to have their fags and their brawls under the starlit sky; they were noisy - but it's a city, and I expect nothing different
.

I knew that if I was to sit on the balcony later, much later, they would all be wending they ways to their homes and peace and silence would prevail again
.

tomorrow I am going home
.

"home"
.

it's not where my heart is, but it is where a very very important part of it is: it's where my children are
.

if I am honest I lost sight of my children a couple of times in the last two years or so - I put my own happiness first, and then I put my own sadness first
.

:-/
.

I'm not proud of that
.

but in the last few weeks I have finally stopped punishing myself for it
.

at the moment my Not So Small People are, one by one, bit by bit, discovering their own lives in their own ways - at some point in the future I will become a smaller part of their lives as they forge their own futures and then they will fly
.

I hope what they have been thru this last long while with me won't prove too much of a burden for them, I hope it won't weigh them down, I hope it won't cause them not to return to me when or if they need to. . .
.

I hope we find a better equilibrium in the long run, despite the ups and downs I know will come in the medium term. . .
.

and as for the immediate short term - I'm not scared anymore, I am a little anxious, but I'm not frightened; I am not at peace with myself, but I am not at war with myself, it's as if I have managed to draw a truce; I am exhausted, but I am not tired, I know where to find the energy I will need; I am not 100% well, but I am not 100% ill, but slowly I am getting better
.

and I know I'm a bit slushy at times, but I believe in giving thanks when and where it's due
.

and it's due here and now - from me, to you
.

thank you, once again,
from the bottom of my heart
right up to the top

.
if there's anything that you want
if there's anything I can do
just call on me
and I'll send it along

with love

from me, to you

.
I called on you all,

and you sent
what I wanted (and needed) along. . .
. . .your friendship
.

I thank you

today's horoscope for any bulls out there

"These past years have forced you to do some very deep self-analysis. A slow and powerful transformation is underway now that will force you to become more serious about your life's purpose. There's no need to consider any immediate changes in your overall path, but don't try to escape the inevitable. A shift in your long-term goals may be unavoidable, yet it should be a major improvement if you take it slowly and deliberately."

.

ho hum!

.

(and yes, I know they are all totally random bits of texts. . . *yawn*. . . and could apply to anyone. . . whenever they were born. . . but sometimes - just sometimes - the randomness clusters at my door in a synchronised sort of way and reminds me of that Hoff guy)

oughts, shoulds, musts

funny the things you think about late at night

when really you ought to be asleep

"ought" is an odd word

suggesting actions one might (have) take(n): it's very similar to "must" and "should"

the things that don't necessarily feel right, but you ought / must / should "do" them anyway

not necessarily within your comfort zone, but probably "good" things to do

there is a phrase "needs must", isn't there

it always makes me think of doing things that you might not do in other circumstances (well, I don't mean "you" exactly) (like remaking the sheets sides-to-middle, to squeeze a few more years wear out of them. . .)

XCH and I had eighteen months of "couple counselling" about three years ago. . . I think I've learnt more about him in the last six months than in all the 22 years that I've known him. . . more than in all those hours of talking all that time ago (and it does seem a long long time ago now). . . anyhow. . . perhaps he's changed - I think he has. . . (perhaps I listen now? perhaps I hear, too? maybe I didn't do either back then? I tried - I know I ought to still try now - my best - I always try my best). . . also, of course, we are not the near-children we were when we met. . . and, of course, we have children of our own. . .

we'll always have those children between us, even tho there are other kinds of things between us now

.

distances mainly
..

but like I said, I really ought to be asleep
.

needs must, and all that

.

I hope you sleep/slept with angels,
dear reader,
and thank you for keeping me company tonight
.

X

;-)

altho aspects of being here are ok-ish, bearable, bring a smile to my face on occasion (the view, for example) I'm longing to be back living somewhere real

my home, possibly (by which I mean the house where the children are)

it's not as simple as putting one's hat down when one walks thru the door tho, is it, making a home out of a house. . .

. . . as well as my hat collection, every"thing" else of mine is there - some "things" still in as yet unpacked boxes, true. . .

. . .but I have no real association with the bricks and mortar and the space they contain; of course, my children exist in that space, and their presence, their beings, their being there, are the most homely associations for me

sometimes when I'm sitting with the children I think that when I am allowed back into that house I will never leave it - so, in those instances, I know it will become my home

I was born in 1964: "at home"; moved for the first time in 1969, then 1971, 1972 and 1975; lived "away from home" in 1982, 1983, 1986; made a new home for myself in 1987; bought my first property in 1990; XCH moved in with me in 1991 and we married in 1992 and then we bought a new home in 1993; we then moved in 1994, 1996, 1997 (three times), 2004; we sold-up and separated in 2007, both rented for a year, this spring I bought the house and for the last couple of months, as you know, I've found myself living in XCH's rented apartment. . .

that's a lot of sorting, packing, unpacking, painting and decorating, settling in, feeling grounded only for more upheaval all over again, isn't it? no wonder I'm so tired

there is still a lot to do at the house

a couple of weeks ago I had a new boiler fitted (the old one had broken, but nobody had noticed, as an electric immersion had been heating the water for the last three months - I'm dreading the electricity bill); the light fittings are in desperate need of an electrician to sort them out and make them work (I've tried changing the bulbs, but it makes no difference); there are patches of damp and rotting wood that need attending to; drips and leaks, when it rains, that need plugging; acres of wall need a lick of paint; shelves need to be put up, pictures hung, clutter put away, boxes unpacked. . .

I'm going to be exhausted!

but all of that will be better than living here

nails

no, not that kind of nail. . . and I didn't say Niles, either. . .
.

but while we're on the subject,
we could linger a little longer. . .

.
(personally, I'd wax him from top to toe -
I'm not keen on body hair)
/

I have a love hate affair with my nails
.

one of my earliest memories is my mother painting them with some kind of disgusting liquid (bitter aloes possibly?) to try and discourage me from biting them - I can remember washing it off straight away. . ..
.
I always used to bite my nails*; right down to the quick; very ugly; the first time I made a totally conscious effort and tried really really hard not to bite them, and actually "grow" them, was for my wedding - and for some reason I nibbled them straight off again afterwards. . .
.
if ever I do manage not to bite them, they just snap off anyhow - I managed to grow them over the last year or so, but for some reason bit them during the ECT; I've grown them again since, but they get covered in the ink from the Etching and cleaning them seems to weaken them and one or two are breaking
.

*of course I mean the nails on my hands
- I don't eat my toe nails!
that would be disgusting. . .
.

.
there was a point to all this, but I've forgotten it. . . so perhaps I'll just indulge myself a little longer. . .

(I'm far too easily pleased
- I need to learn to be fussier,
more demanding, more knowledgeable. . .
but right now,
a great smile makes me smile)

*happy sigh*
.
I hope there are
things in your day
that bring a smile
to your face. . .

dawn

I've just watched the sunrise
it was beautiful

I sat by the river again this evening

in silence

the tunes have left my head, you see, and it's been annoying me as I quite like my internal soundtrack

and I was trying to think of a song about water and then remembered the band doing a version of a mix of both Al Green's and Talking Head's Take Me To The River

and what was strange was how I didn't feel sad about there being no band anymore; I don't miss the singing, which is odd because I really enjoyed it at the time; I don't miss the people, which is odd because we were so close at the time; I don't miss rehearsals or performances, which is odd because it was all such fun. . .

and then I wondered about the water molecules in the river - the river flowing in an easterly direction:
.
.
and the tide either east or west, depending on whether it's coming in or going out:
.
.
and I wondered what were the chances of the same water molecules being in the river this evening as there were there last night. . .
.
and that struck me as odd - that either there would be the same molecules going up and down, back and forth with the flow of the tide and the river, or there wouldn't be

.
and then I started wondering how long the molecules in your body stay in your body - I mean bones and teeth must be fairly permanent, but blood renews itself constantly; and what about neurons in your head, how do memories stay there unless the neurons are the sames ones that were there when the memory was laid down?
.
.
and that took me back to thinking about how I don't miss band

which was the oddest thing of all

what a difference

a day makes

it feels like I've shed a skin

I know exactly why I was so upset yesterday, and I also know that what I need to do is learn how to manage (not control, manage) a similar situation differently

and I need more rest, and probably to eat a little more consistently, and perhaps not to feel the need to do so much over at the house and not to get pissed off if The Nanny's not doing the chores

what's most important is that I'm there, calm, as positive as I can be, for my children - I don't need to be or prove anything other than that

that I'm there for them,
that I love them
and that I'm able to be loved by them

*

I sat down by the river again this evening - the wind has dropped, the tide was in, the water a gently mesmorising reflection of lights rippling together: the bright white lights on the bridge closest to the water, the yellow neon of the street lamps on the bridge, the dull lights in buses and cars crossing the bridge

it was quite hypnotic

*

thank you, dear reader, for being so kind to me yesterday when I was sad and wailing about it. . . I need to be able exorcise my fears and get them out of my head, and - as I'm sure you are aware - I do that here; and, also, I think sometimes it is ok to have a really really good sob, isn't it? and I so appreciated your lovely hugs; yesterday and the couple of days before that were pretty awful, and one of the lessons I've learnt is that you are my good good friend (which is a wonderful thing to have in a life) - I have friends! - and that I am still having crappy days. . .

. . .but that does not mean that everything is crappy

I just need to learn to manage the crap better

("just" being the operative word!)

but, most importantly, you are my friend

and of that, I'm very very very glad

thank you

it's my blog

and I'll cry if I want to

I've had the most dreadful couple of days, really really awful; everything is crap; everything has gone pear-shaped; I feel like shit again, even tho just a few days ago I was feeling as if I was beginning to be able to handle things again with a modicum of success

I'm exhausted, feel as if I have flu coming on, need someone to come and look after me as I have no energy or strength to do it myself, need to phone a friend - except I don't have anyone I can call, am so lonely I could cry (in fact the tears are streaming down my face as I write this)

fucking hell - why does it have to be like this sometimes? how can I be on all the medication I'm on and still feel like this? how can I have good days and then have bad days again? I want to say "it's not fair" but we weren't allowed to say that when I was little and I can still hear my mother's reply in my head ("black man's hair never will be") (didn't make any sense to me when she used to say that, as we lived in Cheltenham where there were no people of colour) so I won't and anyhow it's not about fair it's about responsibility, isn't it? it's OK, there are no answers to any of those rhetorical questions, are there, apart from the fact it's just a life and I should learn to let go a little

but I need a hug and some comfort and I'm so very very sad again and I hate it

moon river

I've just done something I've not done
in all the time I've been here: sat on a bench (remember how I used to love sitting on benches? when I lived in the village. . .), but this time a bench by the river, not the pond in the village

the river has filled up since I was here this morning, and is now emptying again
.

since I was here this morning I've been to my Etching class and learnt to etch with "soft ground" - last week I learnt "hard ground" - and also how to "stop out" and I have printed my two "doodle" plates (one plate was seagulls and waves and the other was random textures of various bookcloths and fray-not and linen and cotton threads from my bookbinding tool box) ! the prints are drying under boards at the moment, and I am going to have to find the scanner (which is in one of the still unpacked boxes in the new house) if I want to show you the prints. . . which I do (otherwise I'm gonna have to print loads and send you one each!); I have done two loads of laundry and put the rubbish and the recycling out and scrubbed the floorboards and taken in the grocery order and put everything away and had the plumber round to fix the broken loo and the central heating (which he couldn't fix) and cooked tea and done homeworks and watched two episodes of Fraiser (currently The Teen's fave show) (which is excellent, cos unlike The A-Team, his other fave, which does nothing for me, I love Fraiser)

(well, actually I am totally in love with Niles

but it turns out he's now married to Daphne
so I've missed my opportunity)

and a fascinating show on Discovery Channel about a Giant Squid

(or was it a Colossus Squid?
I think it was the latter)

(the first one ever to be found alive and intact)
(normally they find bits of them in the stomachs of sperm whales)

whilst embroidering the Kaffe Fasset "Lobster" cushion panel (which is what I'm currently doing when the children watch tv between tea and homeworks and I've done all the chores)
.

I DIGRESS!!

anyhow, as I sat on, the bench, by the river, the moon - which is waning, I think - was low enough in the sky to run a path of reflection to me across the water

a while ago I drew the ripples on the water a black and white image of simple lines criss crossing in a complex pattern; I photocopied it (costs a fortune, an A2 photocopy) and have been colouring in the copies with the patterns that the sunlight creates on the water. . . I think I'll have to do a really inky black one now, with the moon path beckoning in the manner that I've just seen it

I sat and watched the moon rise every so gently into the night sky, but down on the water what really surprised me was that the heron was out night fishing - it was standing on one of the sandbanks that gradually appear as the water recedes

as it dipped in and out of the water. . .

(a little like those glass nodding-headed birds
that fill with coloured liquid, you know the ones,
and lean backwards and forwards filling and emptying)
(they always remind me of those metal balls on strings in a cradle
that click backwards and forwards in patterns)

(a Newton's Cradle, I believe -
what must be the best desk-toy ever)

. . .the surface of the water rippled and bubbled and glinted in the light of the moon - made me think of phosphorescence and bio-luminescence

I remember years and years ago skinny dipping with a friend in the Indian Ocean really late one night and we swam thru some kind of glowing algal bloom that was on the surface of the water. . . when we emerged, we glimmered. . .

I should have chosen that last Wednesday, but there you go timing has never been my forte. . .

(what do we think about her haircut? I'm no fashion expert at the best of times, but I find it slightly suspect)

broken

I don't think I'll ever be able to go back and live in that house, with my children

"from the home"

(Italian for "on the house")

I've just been given a free coffee, by the maitre d' of the coffee place I go to. . . it's a place where they don't do loyalty cards and I maybe guess I've "earned" it

or perhaps he was just being friendly

can't cost much, can it - a coffee? really, if you think about it. . .
.
.
I've been thinking about CERN a lot; reading; including one article about how it is the Stonehenge of our age, which I thought was perhaps the most interesting concept that my head could get itself around in trying to understand and make sense of the time, money and effort put into (and makes more sense to me, possibly, than that of the Cerne Abbas man's nether regions that I was considering the other day): is it a good thing? can we afford NOT to do it? that's a bit of a redundant question, because it's done now - thousands of people working for years and years to put their ideas and vision into practise. . . and they managed to have the first particle go all the way around without having to adjust the magnets (which makes up for all the mistakes, errors, minor faults and corrections made thus far); they must be overjoyed

*

one of the few people who still keeps in touch with me texted today to say that her father had just died - he lives/d in the states, she couldn't afford to go visit him when he was ill this summer; if she had had the air-fare, she couldn't have afforded the time to visit because it would mean not working and she needed the job she had. . .
.

what price do we put on these things?
money and time. . .

. . .sometimes there are other costs

I know the price of my not seeing my father is my sanity (what is left of it)

and I know the price I paid by missing my mother's death, due to him

*

the sun has broken thru the clouds this afternoon, a lovely end to the day

come up and see my butterfly collection

the Czech equivalent of come up and see my etchings

(it's important to know these things)

wanna know about the Etching and Printmaking? or should I tell you about the Life Drawing first

decisions, decisions. . .

I could take you step by step how to prepare your plate for etching. . . or I could tell you about imaginary plumb lines and movement away from the vertical

or I could tell you about the thoughts that flooded thru my head as I sat in the near silence of the drawing class, the only noise breaking thru being the sound of charcoal on paper (apart from when my easel fell apart) (perhaps a small vortex in the space time continuum had opened up and swallowed an essential part of its construction)

ever used an easel? I hadn't until yesterday - I think they ought be called diffcultl actually and I think you'd need to have taken an evening course in carpentry or woodwork to be able how to get the blasted thing to do what you wanted it to do! as well as drawing the model, I wanted to write my thoughts across the paper - a whole stream of them

the tutor came to look at my work (I was the only beginner, everyone else had attended this class or a Beginner's class before) (did I realised I'd signed up for Intermediate? did I heck); she said I had "a bold stroke" and "made excellent use of the space on the paper" (I think these were positive and encouraging comments, but it was slightly difficult to tell); she then told me what I was doing "wrong"

"but it's ART" I thought, "it can't be wrong, surely?" I wasn't drawing a photographic image of the nude, I was drawing what I saw. . . it turns out that there is a lot more to see than my eyes were open to, so I learnt a little of what that was

that was yesterday (the real highlight of which was the flapjack served in the canteen at breaktime)

today (no flapjack, sadly) I realised how much I had learnt and - more importantly - still remember from various aspects of being a fledgling bookbinder and printer. . . I realised I have a good grasp of the technical skills that will be required for creating etchings. . . I realised I can sketch a reasonable sketch, so might be able to etch a reasonable etch. . . I realised I am still able to converse with strangers (Etching is very chatty, compared to Life Drawing - which is very quiet). . . I realised that I know in my head what I want to achieve. . . I realised that all the drawing I have been doing during my enforced sejourn in The Tower of the river and the tidepools and the ebb and flow of the water and the light on the water and the wind and the ripples on the surface of the water and the boats have stood me in good stead for knowing how I can achieve the images I now realise that I want to create when I start printing. . .

and what is weird is that all the hours I have sat up here, on the wraparound balcony, drawing what is below, have given me a grounding for something I now realise I want to do - and yet I didn't realise that at the time: at the time I just thought I was filling in the hours between waking and nightmares and taking pills and trying to control my panic attacks and anxiety

similarly, all the hours I sat at the Head Hospital drawing the leaves in the trees above me and the shadows they made on the page and the interplay of the light and the shadows on the paper, have also produced some ground works for printing images. . .

. . .and I am filled with awe and amazement

not with myself, or my "art", but just that each minute and each hour of the past few months have led me to the point today where I feel fairly positive

and that is
a good thing

so thank you - yes YOU! - for bearing with me thru it all, for being here and reading my words, hour after hour, day after day, and for your encouraging empathetic kind love-filled comments

thank you

le scaphandre et le papillon

having read the book, I did watch the film


it didn't ruin the book for me. . .

one of my thoughts was that depression is a little like a diving-bell of the mind, and if only my body's butterfly would take flight instead of staying locked up in its chrysalis I'd have more to distract myself with - you know, getting out and about a little (another thought was about training to be a Speech Therapist, and how I never practised once I'd qualified)

I love French films (not difficult, seeing as I love all things French) (within reason) but it always annoys me when the sub-titles aren't translated correctly, or not as I would have translated the words anyhow. . .

there is part of my brain which is bi-lingual, still, after all these years - and I know in my head exactly what the French words mean (the bi-lingual bit must be connected to a whole bunch of thoughts and experiences, which makes me think about the development of language in general and how the same word can mean different things to different people) and so if I see the English "translation" on screen and it is not how I imagine the translation, I become momentarily distracted from the plot. . .

but perhaps the person who translated the words into the sub-titles has a different meaning in their head (which could, of course, apply to someone speaking the same language as you - if you think about it)

what I mean is this:

I hear the French person say:
"don't forget"
(in French)
.

the sub-title person has written:
"remember"
(as the translation)

now that, for me, is not the same thing at all

and it sets me thinking about the difference between "not forgetting" and "remembering", which I see as two entirely different trains of thought

perhaps I need another coffee? I do recommend both book and film, but read the book if you only have time for one or the other

being

pick as sweet, any sweet - go on. . .
.
.
I'm feeling slightly frivolous today -
but only slightly, so I'm not going to overdo it

more nightmares last night, including the worst one I could have - maybe it's cleared the air tho, a little like a fresh morning after a night of thunderstorms which followed a hot and humid, muggy day

for the people who wonder if it's to do with the drugs, I think it is - I've been having the nightmares since I was put on the new medication (I did tell the nursing staff when I was in hospital, but they said if I didn't wake up screaming it wasn't a nightmare) (bollocks to that); also, I have come off the sleeping pills that my brain was/is addicted to - night five last night without it - so perhaps that's affecting things too

interestingly, without it (the sleeping drug) my body seems to wake up more naturally, rather than after six-and-a-half-hours; thus I had to set my alarm for this morning, in order to make sure I was up in time to meet Mini-Teen and take her into school

however, because of the nightmare, I had woken up an hour before the alarm went off; so I started rereading The Diving-Bell and The Butterfly in the early light, instead of drifting back into some kind of fitful sleep

if you recall,
this is the book that the delightful Tom lent me

have you read it? I haven't seen the film, so I can't comment on that - but the book is a total delight, despite its sadness; amongst many gifts, it has given me a new method of getting to sleep: I turn the light out and let my mind flutter off somewhere enjoyable, as Jean-Dom does in the book (I'm fully aware that he had no choice about this, whereas I do); it's almost like "choosing" happiness

which I didn't think was possible, and I'm not able to keep up the whole time, but am gradually learning is a possibility

at the other end of the morbidity scale, I've only had one evening in the last two weeks where I wanted to just end it all there and then; that night I went to bed early, instead of spending hours working myself into more and more of a deadend

so, pick a Love Heart - any Love Heart
and pass the message on to the person who makes you happy,
I'm very glad you have someone that does

later we could play
Love Heart Bingo
(I'll do it in order of comments, alright?
if anyone is going to make any today, that is)

the passage of time v passageways

Mini-Teen starts secondary school tomorrow

how did that happen so quickly? she's my youngest, my little one (I had to take her new school skirt up by about four inches, cos she is little still); at the moment I'm sewing name tapes onto every item of her uniform

in the blink of an eye she's gone from being the tiny newborn carried in the babysling, as I pushed Middle One in a buggy, and The Teen walked next to me - at four years and a week old - for his first day at school. . .

Mini-Teen and I have arranged where to meet in the morning and at what time, as she'll be leaving the new house and I'll be leaving The Tower - I'm going on the bus journey with her in the first couple of mornings and meeting her after school in the afternoons

just as I did with The Teen four years ago; Middle One, as ever, got the rough end of the deal - this time last year he started the secondary school where The Teen also goes, so MO had to trail along behind the recalcitrant older brother while I drove M-T back to the village daily, for her last year at primary school. . .

. . .I will not have need to visit the village again, which is a good thing; I've been having nightmares about it (and its inhabitants) recently - terrible terrible nightmares, the sort that you cannot wake yourself from and you are trapped in have no way out of and you just keep going around and around in as if you are stuck in a maze at which every turn presents you with a worse and more dire situation to encounter and deal with

worse than a maze, not a fun run thru hedges the object of which is not to touch the edges and from which you know you'll find your way out - and if not, someone will come looking for you. . .

. . .more like an underground labyrinth
.

with low ceilings and narrow tunnels, no light and no air, walls closing in around you, passages behind you disappearing

and the only way to go is further and further down into the depths of a place you know you don't want to be stuck in

not a beautiful shape or experience, but a terror from which I wake up traumatised on a daily basis

I don't know how to make these nightmares go away, and they haunt my days; despite the distraction of sewing on name tapes

when in doubt

play Love Heart Bingo*
. .
..

(*I've had that ©ed, I'll have you know)
.
there are no rules (well, there are some, actually, but I'm [fairly] sure you're not really that interested. . .) and you can munch to your heart's content on that Swizzles Matlow flavour as you go. . . of course, you could just go down to the sweetie shop and buy yourself some other kind of sherbert or fizzies. . .

.
(suggestions follow)

. . .and save the results of the Love Heart Bingo for posterity. . .
.

but love's not like that, is it
.

love is a sometimes ephemeral transitory thing: like a leaf on a tree, a bud in spring and full of promise and all withered and dried up by autumn; or the soft fluttering of a butterfly wing, moments before it is caught up in a spider's web and eaten; or dust that sits quietly minding its own business in the corner of a room and is then vacuumed into oblivion by the hoovering of an over zealous housewife; or the water molecule at the peak of a wave - thinking it's just about to break gloriously on the shingle or sands of the shore, but actually left behind in the foam as the next molecule picks up the energy and continues on with it. . .

where was I? oh yes, Love Heart Bingo

.
I played it in France. . .
.

ha ha!

but when I asked you delightful people what you wanted to know about my hols, noone wanted to know about the men of this summer's France: so I'm not going to tell you anymore about it; what I will tell you is that I am to become An Art Student! YES! I signed up for 2 (repeat two) classes at the local College of Art and Design. . . I walked away with the beginnings of a rather smug grin on my face, thinking of what my mother told me when I was fifteen, "nice girls don't go to Art College", and how she wanted me to become a secretary instead (or a nurse), and then I stopped dead in my tracks in the street
.

what if she was right?

.
(not that I'm assuming I'm a nice girl, anymore)
(not after the last eighteen months anyhow)

confessional

no, not a new single by Madonna

a state of mind

my mind

(you have been warned)

currently I am pursuing five things (in no particular order) (should they be?):

• rebuilding my relationship with my children a few days ago one of them woke in the morning on their birthday and I wasn't there for breakfast, tomorrow the same thing will happen again; I don't know if each child is as troubled by this as I am; I don't know how I rationalised the thought that this might happen to me eighteen months ago, if indeed it occurred to me at all
  .
• a healthy recovery tomorrow I am meeting - yet another - new Head Doctor (the fourth in two months) (so much for continuity, eh)
  .
• a balance between distracting myself from my litany of woes (and sorry to bore you with them, but you can always go read something somewhere else, can't you) (no! not you, the person sitting twiddling their thumbs at the back who occasionally doodles in the margins and shows up pretty regularly but never ever makes a contribution) and getting on with life
  .
• a friendship that I am not even sure will ever come to fruition but I would like it to - the ball is not in my court right now, but I'd quite like it to come flying back over the net (or indeed, from the other side of a ping-pong table)
  .
• a friendship that I am not even sure I "want", but someone else has asked it of me. . . so I'm experimenting - because I have the time right now, and communication with words and pictures doesn't cost a whole bundle (not that one should put a price on friendship, but perhaps you get my drift)
  .
• being a good friend to a friend who I think needs a friend right now. . . but I might be wrong (altho the wonderful gordie's advice earlier this evening was remarkably spot-on and has helped me sort out aspects of what is troubling me)
  .

actually, that's probably more or less the right order. . . of course there is the bulk of the rest of my life as well, quietly simmering away in the background and sometimes surfacing here. . . well, "bulk" might be an over-exageration. . . even "rest of my life" might be pushing it. . . oh, I give up - you know what I mean!

things I've never seen #3

the film Broke Back Mountain

and that's because I chose not to. . . the story, one of many equally beautiful (if you are of the XY persuasion and have only seen the film, you might not understand this), is to be found in a collection of short pieces of writing by Annie Proulx, Close Range: Wyoming Stories, and has provided me with many many moments of inspiration when examining life from the point of view of a "shirtsleeves within shirtsleeves moment" (upon which I dwelt frequently in the original I, Like The View)