Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.
I wish we didn’t but we do. It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes we both give into the temptation and rage. Yesterday it was about money, and his desire to consume. He rails against curbs. In the end we reason it through, we always do, which is perhaps why this marriage of ours has survived. We are similar in some things but wildly different in others. And I cherish this. As I do him.
I know that it isn’t real, but it overtakes me nevertheless. It’s just the not being able to see it being finished, contained and good enough. How can I do it in such a short period of time and when will I know that it is enough?
I am weary and I am not sure why. Is it heat, anxiety over the ever looming deadline, or just lethargy? It shames me, for it is promising to be another beautiful day and I have all I need. Forgive me. I will try to rise up and, if I can, soar above it….
I saw it when I woke, the almost-full blue moon, but when I walked it had gone, disappeared. Where did it go to? This is a full moon in a Spanish sky from long, long ago.
Is it ever to be found? There is so much destruction in this constant warring, so much loss of life, of safety or security. Have we learnt nothing? I think of an afterlife where war has no place. Is it possible?
I get glimmers of it, in the form of a sharp, clear other way of thinking. And then I think, it may not be so bad. I may not be so bad, after all.
It featured on the news several times, about how the government have brought in Alan Milburn to look into why over million young adults are not working, in education or training. It’s a sad fact. I mourn for them. I’ve seen the hopelessness, the inwardness and the utter lack of motivation when I used to teach. What can be done to help them?
Did my imagining that it was going to happen, make it so? Who knows? I thought about it, minutes before he did it. And it went everywhere. Such mishaps bring him down. He feels stupid, awkward, cross with himself. It’s wiped up, done. Though upstairs reeks of coffee. There are worse smells.
I am constantly tired. I thought my energy would pick up since the cold we both had left, but it hasnt’. Is it my heart? Or anaemia? I trudge rather than walk. Will it pass? I need my strength, for there is still so much work to do.
My reply to his Instagram post about Palestine, and how his sadness and impotence over what is happening there has made him unable t draw or paint, felt paltry, mere platitude. I feel for him, and for him, as I do for the Ukrainians over our selling out over buying oil from Russia. It is all so ugly, so unethical and unkind. How have we got ourselves in all this mess of degradation?