...and here comes winter, damping us down the drain along with the leaves. I let the rain wash my car while I do taxi duties for number two son, Musician. As long as I'm inside, I'm reasonably happy :-)
and it's cold, and chilly and mostly miserable with a flash of sun now and again - this weather forecast will self-destruct in ten seconds. Boom!
Sleep; what is that – a novel I read years ago? Oh, sleeeeep, where you close your eyes and drift off into some other world for seven or eight hours – not in this life I don’t. I would pay fortunes (if I had any) to experience unconsciousness for more than an hour at a time. My friend, Sylvia mentioned on the phone yesterday that there is a version of Nightal (don’t know if I’ve spelled that right) that works like a dream, even on the usually impervious. It’s supposed to be natural drugs: not real serious drugs – I thought drugs were natural. Well anyway, I might try it if she can find out the right colour for me.
My two weeks holiday is almost up; back to work on Monday, full of my usual bounce and enthusiasm. Actually I’ll be glad to get back to work; I’ve got a blanket to crochet for my new great-niece, and one to finish for my daughter Amazon’s boyfriend. I push these blankets on everyone and the big/young people like them especially for their hangovers, especially in winter when they’re mooning around the house, or mooching from neighbours. Actually, she’s been going out with him for over two years now, so I’ll have to give him a name; he works in a bank but I don’t think Banker would suit him, but he’s a DJ too, so DJ it is. Welcome to my blog, DJ.
Where was I? Oh yes, sleep. I lay down about half-past twelve, because I seemed to be tired, as you do. One hour later I’m still trying to fall off to sleep. So I gave up and made a cup of tea, opened the laptop and suddenly a section of the novel appeared in my head…but I still quickly checked email and Litopia for conversation. Nothing doing, I delved into the novel and wrote almost a thousand words. by half-past two I was nodding and congratulating myself, talking into the room. Then I lay down again but not a lot happened so I’m going to sack the hell out of that manager who runs the
Half-past nine, text messages from Amazon. Nine-forty-five phone call from Musician. Isn’t everything in the world about how we get the loan of a fiver to bloody Musician? But I got up and actually wrote more lovely words (well that remains to be seen) before I had breakfast at eleven. I like it when a plan comes together – what plan? That’s why I’m having so much trouble with this bloody novel; I haven’t planned it out and don’t know what happens at the end – writing by the seat of my pants here, as usual.
So yeah, things are going good.
Yesterday’s post was cheating; it was half a lie, in that it was all internal – yes, I was talking to myself. My son never heard those words that were screaming in my head that still lurk somewhere seething to get out. I am a calm and lovely mother in my old age, though have to confess to being very un-perfect in days gone by. Looking back on it now I would wish to have been different – a better mother, who put her children first instead of herself. My children deserved more of my attention.
So, if they’re not perfect now, I know that it could’ve been different. …but I don’t want to do that; blame myself. No, I blame their useless father, or single parenthood or the government or God.
How do you get past all this trudging down memory lane with an axe in your hand, trying to change paths and directions? I can’t; what’s done is done and we all just have to live with what we have at any given moment.
I’ve suddenly turned maudlin. How did that happen? Maybe I’m listening for heavy footsteps coming behind me – COME IN NUMBER 4 YOUR TIME IS UP! I think I sense a change in the air, and there has been movement in the extended family. My niece has just had her first baby; she was born with a condition called Septo Optic Dysplasia – she will definitely have problems with her sight, perhaps blind.
I told my sister-in-law that I’d been expecting something like this; we’ve had all these beautiful children over the years, and not one of them having any health problems or disabilities. Reality does come a-knocking, eventually.
Maybe my mood has swung over in this direction because I’m on holiday and have spent a lot more time on my own, or perhaps I’m just as bonkers as I ever was. Time will tell.
No it's not that I don't like him; the main problem I have with my son is the way he just blasts out his thoughts and visions as if he's got a court order stating he's right in fact. I know you're going to grab me for using the 'don't like' words so on you go -.in fact I'll take a leaf out of his book and imagine that you couldn't possibly understand what I'm on about. Oooh, he makes me want to slap him. Does he think I'm from another planet or something? That I haven't been changed and battered through the years from dealing with men and teenagers?
'Don't you dare,' I said to him. 'Don't you steal any more years from me. I've been there and know what's going on in your head - Christ you haven't even reached the half-way mark and you think you're magnificent with all your projections about what your kids will and won't do because of the way you've brought them up. Reality will bash your face in pretty soon my boy, God help you.'
I can't repeat what he said in return because the keyboard is littered with flipped letters, so I have to be careful - speak slowly. I need to calm down. I'll have a chocolate brazil nut and try to change the subject that's racing around my head.
No, it doesn't matter what I do, I can't make it go away, and I'm so tired because of my eyes, and the sneezing - you wouldn't think that sneezing would take so much out of you, would you? I wish I could lie down but I'd have a stroke if I did that. I should know better than to let it get to me. I hate arguing - that's the people-pleaser in me.
How do you help a thirty-something man? Probably by lethal injection.
No, I'm not condoning the murder of sons but it does feel good to grate my teeth at the thought; feel them bite into each other as I vent my rage at his stupid words - not at him, just the words. Oooh, the words will kill me one of these days if I don't get a grip. I already know all of this. Why does it reach down there and pull at my guts? I thought all that passion was gone. Oh God, is there more to come? Will I be dragged back into that world of strife and tension when his children start acting up? Am I losing my mind again?
No, I won't go there; I'm going to give myself a right seeing-to...Oh I can feel my teeth starting to grind again. Stop it! I'm going to get dressed and walk up the road...
Yes, that's it, walk the good walk - eat some
Oooh, winter is coming and the world, as I knew it, is gone; hundreds of pounds of already-used heat sailed from my kingdom - time to face the mountain and its weather. The best tool I have is this bed, this ship, these quilts and blankets, this laptop and super-furry slippers. I can feel the chill lying on my shoulders, sliding down my arms but I've yet to feel the kiss of ice on my nose - when it reaches the cheekbones I'll turn that dial, hear the explosion of the lovely gas jets - BOOOF! and the tide will turn, balance is to be my new life - I can touch but only dream of further depths.
Where does money go when it dies? I seem to have missed the funeral and gone straight to grieving but I am graceful - there has been no bawling, no disgraceful wailing in public, gnashing of old teeth. A regular lottery ticket is the only residue of the old ways.
I would rather be in this space than that public hanging, that general tripping of extortionate handbags...all hail to hermitism and sequestration; the unclean den of iniquity and vicarious living, internet ramblings and tv-on-demand. My skin will wrinkle with secrets and imaginings, each line a tale to be told, each pucker a lesson. Only in reflection can truth be seen.
Oh I can glaze over all my faults and forgive the world its heartlessness in this, my new benevolence. I will be a new woman, reborn - a virgin queen, kissed by the chilling lips of stupidity and wayward dreams.
I have to confess to a small case of Lazyitus – well I hope it’s a small case. I lay in bed last night (early hours of the morning) planning to get up and write for most of the day today, Oh I was going to do all sorts but I was delayed. The bed held me back. I automatically took my first cup of decaffeinated tea into the bedroom and slipped between the covers again, then, as the laptop warmed up, my hand reached out for the lovely shiny thing that is my iPod Touch – and that was me snookered. I’ve been here all day.
Of course I have to set the beautiful thing up; assign favourites in uTube, checkout the apps I captured last night and learn how to type on the fabulous little keyboard. The fact that today was my first weighing-in day fell by the wayside, and even that I’ve lost 10lbs – YES 10 whole lbs! didn’t make a dent in my prone position on that bloody bed. I can write like this too but did I? No, I consoled myself that my back was still a little sore so I should take another day off. Twit that I am.
Well, anyway, I’ve had a lovely day and have X-Factor to look forward to tonight (yeah right, with the diabolical twins) but I know that the CSIs will be repeats, so perhaps I’ll write then. I’ve been surrounded with blankets and can now feel the cold sinking into my shoulders so I’d better go put the heating on and have some dinner.
Now that I’ve bought my new toy and set it up, there’s not a whole lot left to do with it until I go out – which I don’t plan to do for a while. There is no more dreaming of the thing; it’s born and will be a normal feature of my life, so I might as well spend the time writing and finish this bloody novel. Hmm.
Well, I did get up on my legs and go out of the house, but only for an hour and there wasn't actually much walking because I took the car (500 yds) to my favourite spot. I had to walk from the car to my bench (10 yds) to glory in this view.
Oh I’m busy beavering away at the novel for NaNo – keeping pace, but it’s only day three; plenty of time to screw up! No, I’m not going to do that this year. I’ve got two weeks off work to get myself into a nice routine. I did think of running ahead of the game but I could turn myself right off doing that. So, nice and easy it is; just what I’m supposed to do and no more.
Though, after three days in bed I’m getting a bit twitchy – I’m in here with the laptop, hiding from the TV. So, I think I might take myself out to the loch tomorrow. Mmm, fresh air, exercise, photography, coffee…Oh God, it sounds positively dangerous!
I’ve also been thinking of cleaning the flat, finishing the wallpapering in the kitchen even – then moving the fridge to do the other side. Maybe I’m ill. I haven’t slept much the last two nights; my friend says it’s because I haven’t been out of the house, that I should walk somewhere – without the car! Ooh, I don’t know if I could do that. I might drive over to the loch (about 500 yards away) and have a little wander further than the decorative part, away from the shops and benches.
It’s a problem, but I might solve it.
