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Change

I would rather go and meet it than have it forced on me, unawares. But the meeting of it, or the running or walking to meet it, is never easy. I spent the day putting myself into another box that isn’t of my design. I want it. Or at least part of me does just so that I can live with myself. It is the best of it. If I have to go out to work than I’d rather do something that helps others than not. At least there is meaning in it. And the meaning, the worth of it will carry it along. It’s just the forms and the statements and the cvs that are not reflective of me of what I’ve been and what I’ve become. I don’t fit. I mean well, I work hard but I don’t fit into other people’s boxes. I don’t even fit into my own. Another encounter with people today. First day for wearing a mask. Having to. I want my feet done. They hurt. But I long to stay here, safe. Another good thing came through the email. The possibility of another article. Fingers crossed. Is this what I am supposed to do? Is there ever to be a clear light?

It mizzles with rain outside. We were to picnic with flasks on the Prom before my appointment but this morning it will just feel miserable so we and the flasks will stay here. Heigh ho. What it is to be loved and cared for.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.