Struck Dumb

I’m struck dumb by a desire to not say something unkind. I was boiling over with it and it goes straight to my gut, causing it to lock tight, spasm and bloat. I can see both sides. I always can. Ever the scales, balancing, weighing-up, trying to be kind. And this time failing. I want to rant and rave. It is trapping me. He can’t be relied upon to do what he says he was going to do. And yet, I understand that need to close everything down. But not me too. He wants to close me down too. I can’t let it happen. I want to fly, to flee, to escape to a city somewhere, stay in a hotel, drink tea in cafes and just watch, step outside of this inwardness, this imploding. I’ve had enough, today I’ve had enough. Is that allowed?

I’ve still got loads of work to do. Too much detail. I need to finish it and then I can put my head above the parapet and think clearly.

They were talking in the shelter when I walked past. He was sitting up under his blanket and another man was sitting next to him talking loudly. I didn’t catch their conversation. Otherwise it was quiet. A big man shuffled his way past me eating. Another was smoking in a dressing gown outside Alexandra Hall. The rain came in drizzly outbursts. I put up my umbrella. The smell of the starling guano under the pier was salty, brackish. I could hear the hiss of their chatter. Getting ready to mumurate. They’ll be gone soon, he said.

Yes, I said, they will.