Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.
As I walked I thought about what failure might feel and look like. Would it be so bad? Can I, could I live with it? He says I can’t fail. That they wouldn’t let me. Is this really the case? Am I held more than I believe? Can I rest in that, let my back and my colon relax? Can I?
They’ve told me I must stop, stop what I’ve been doing. Stop and behave differently. Stop. Stop what I have become and become something else. It is timely. My back tells me. But oh, it is so so difficult.
I’m not. I’m not managing this very well at all. I thought I’d be more stoic, be able to exercise more self-control but it’s gone on too long. I am undone by it.
I used to anticipate journeys with pleasure. Now, though I like to get away from the structure of my life that holds me in place, they tire me. There’s a tawdriness to them, I feel awry, dirtied, adrift. And then coming home, there’s all that adjusting to do. Yet, they must be made and wisdom is found in their discomfott.
I’ve given it a name. I talk to it, to her first thing in the morning when she is at her height. I want to manage it. To live with it, even welcome it. Good morning, heartache, sang Billie Holiday. Good morning, pain. Let it be. Not surrender to self-pity but accept what it and the wisdom therein.
The world it seems is full of it, and it has probably been so always. As indeed is my wee body. It makes me cross and spiky. And I am sorry for it. I want to be a saint, an angel. I am not. Just a scratchy, self-pitying lesser mortal. Let today bring some healing. For all of us. Please.
I cricked it in the bath again. The warmth belies my back’s still fragility. I must bear it, try to relax it, exercise it, tend and massage it till it returns to its usual supple normality. It is nothing in comparison to R.’s trails. He had ten injections in his back yesterday. Poor poor love.
I’ve broken my fast. My mouth is uncertain about the explosion of tastes that I have inflicted on it this morning. Take it easy, he says at breakfast. And I am doing so, but I want to taste fruit again, and nuts and yoghurt. They are unfamiliar to my tongue, sharp at times and my stomach is threatened by the acidic-ness of them. I will adapt. Allow it. And begin to enjoy it, them, again. But I haven’t forgotten those who have nothing. He says that he will allow basic food to get through. Let it be now. Please.
How are they managing? Journalists write of no aid being allowed through. What is the world doing? Has it gone on so long that we no longer hear their cries for help? Let there be some breakthrough, not soon but now. Please.
Rice and more rice. It is food. And I am grateful for that, but the sameness of it soon begins to pall. My withdrawal symptoms from no tea yesterday have been mildly discomforting but not impossible to bear. And I am feeling better inside. Another two days to go. I think.