I have a cold. It came on swiftly. It cocoons me. I feel slightly out of this world. And it is back to work time. To all that regularity and frustration. I need to let it go. I didn’t get tense walking this morning. My hazy sensation left me outside looking on. I didn’t have to go. I wanted to sleep. I always do but something takes me out. That need to keep moving. He doesn’t understand, would take the rest if it was offered. Why can’t I? We talked about writing. So much fear. Fear of doing it wrong, of failing. Jeremy Deller on DID talked about a retrospective in which he included some of his failures. Interesting and so bold. I liked listening to him. I can’t do anything, he says. I was never really good at art. To be so confident, so clear. Can I have some of that? What is my fear? That I won’t manage it? That I won’t be able to write it? Who knows?

Town was quiet. A few wanderers like me. The decorations are down but the town tree still stands but its smell has gone. The ice rink has also been dismantled. January stretches ahead. A crossword clue last night suggested that the 13th January is the coldest day. A mythic belief perhaps? The papers are full of diets and fitness regimes. The same old same old.

I wanted to do a nice thing for her. I like her. She said it was so. I’m glad. I worried over it. I watch myself too keenly. Let it go. Take a leaf out of JD’s book. Be that clear. As clear as a bell.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.