Tears spar behind my eyelids, vying to be let out, to cascade in torrents of frustration, pathetic self-pity and had-enough-ness. My chest is crushed with the catch of breaths not taken deeply enough and I’m overpoweringly aware of just how much I have to be thankful for, and how much of an ungrateful, hypocritical wretch…
Right now…I want to talk to you. Just you. Just for a few moments. Can you spare me that?
Like a lightning bolt from above, it hits me – my galling lack of integrity – that I’ve screwed up. Again. I’ve held myself up to unrelenting standards and outrageous expectations, neither of which I’ve had the strength of character to achieve, and so have been the author of my own failure.
This week I almost gave up. I wanted to stop writing for ever, to abandon this place and leave it to rot – a soon-forgotten archive of pieces by someone who used to write a little, once upon a time. I wanted to unplug my heart and distance myself from the World Between the Wires.…
It hasn’t been a cheerful week I haven’t been cheerful this week. In spite of many and varied efforts by a number of wonderful people, my low mood (explainable, understandable, still unmanageable) has persisted and I have lacked even the energy to call it an ‘ordeal’* and take notes, thereby redeeming it a little. So…
That I’ve spent the last ten minutes staring into space wondering whether to title this post ‘So…this is progress’ or ‘Woefully inadequate’ should give you some idea of my frame of mind. That I’ve spent the last 20 minutes wondering aloud whether to write (because I want to) or go to bed (because it’s late,…
Dear me, Dear, oh dear, oh dearie me. Just look at the STATE of you!
Sit with me a while. I’ve caught your attention, fleetingly, in between the everything-else of your world. What were you just doing? What’s next? What’s been hooked in the nets of your memory today? Which moments stand out? I want you to remember them, one at a time. Hold them gently in the cupped palms…
At some point you’re going to get fed up of my inconsistency (if that’s not already a thing) and begin to understand why I have ten faithful co-hosts, the majority of whom are far better at actually DOING the hopping, unlike me, who seems to fall afoul of Real, and ends up just…not.
It’s coming again. Even whilst (some of) the days are still infused with bright sunshine and glorious warmth, I can tell it’s there, lurking, just around the corner. It’s dragging at the edges of my mind and turning them to cold and darkness and that damp smell of rotting leaves. It’s crumbling away the foundations…
