It was a ridiculous clue. Something like ‘a folded piece of paper, usually decorated’. Notelets, I said. Notelets? he replied. Yes, the sort of thing women of your mother’s generation used as thank you cards. I know, he said, but to describe them like that, honestly. I remember them. I loved them as a child. They made me feel grown up, so much nicer than plain paper and an envelope. I had all sorts. They came in plastic-lidded boxes, and sometimes the motif on the front would be replicated on the back of the envelope. I have some that she sent me when she was a wee girl, about the same age as she was in my dream last night. A golden-haired child, sunny. I made no notes today. There was nothing to report. No kids, no policeman. Nobody. I had the place to myself. A thin coating of rain. No Perygyl. And in the silence a tiny revelation.
I’d sunk a bit, you know like a going cold soufflé. I had felt better yesterday afternoon. I’d solved the Twitter issue and was feeling pleased with myself. And the calm had continued, thanks to Aurum 10. But this morning it was the thought of working today. Sitting here, in my studio, and having to construct another working day. From nothing. Nil. It was that. I felt my worthlessness. A tangible feeling and the gloom descended. It hurts him. He asks so I tell him. To him I am far from worthless. I know this. It is not rational. My importance to him does make me worthy. But it is the deep down stuff, the not having learnt to value my gifts. What are they exactly? I am organised, I try to be kind, I have ideas, I can write sometimes, well sometimes (whatever that means), I notice things, the detail. I am trustworthy, worthy of trust, I serve. I like to do this. I am diligent. I try to do what I say I will do. The rest is and has to be in the eye of the beholder. My goodness. What is that? I wish it to be so, but it is a transient feeling. My capacity for empathy is legion but whether it is useful or not is a question. You see the core is wobbly. Nothing is cast iron. Nothing is steady. My self, the one beyond the outer, the doing me, well she/it is sure, steady, a brim with goodness. But she/it or maybe even he is beyond this reality. She/it/he merely dips a toe.
So I keep busy. I’ve walked, made breakfast, ate it, shopped and now I sit here expunging and it is not yet 8.00 am. More to learn today. When some days I just want to do something banal. I know it is a fantasy – sitting behind a till in M&S, making sandwiches in Chives (I didn’t even get an interview) – such jobs must have their strife, particularly the low pay. But the learning is good, and rewarding. I just need to lift myself up to it. So put the video on YouTube. Do it. It went OK with Facebook – 21 views yesterday. It is something. Such spaces are my theatre now. I need to learn how to use them. And I sent off the email requests. Nothing may come of it. But it is a start. There is power in the starting, to paraphrase Goethe. I’m excited by it, he said. It is exciting, he said. Yes. It is. I just need to find my courage. Or perhaps not. Do it as you are now. However, you feel. What does the Nike advert say, just do it? So be it. Amen. Enough.
The sun yesterday was pure joy. Thank you.
