I need it, that gooey, sentimental escapism that such films offer. We watch about 15 to 20 minutes or so of them, before I get too sleepy and can no longer focus. It’s a cliche but I do switch from the endless trying to solve the puzzle of writing in my head. The stories, though fanciful, do take me in. I sleep better then, though I do wake in the night and the terrors of failure beginning haranguing me once again.
It was a grief-less funeral, or at least so it seemed to me. There was little black worn by the mourners, and one of her daughters wore a peach floral dress. The sun streamed into the church and the congregration sang with seemingly good heart. Likening her to Abel, the bishop who gave the eulogy, said that though dead she was still speaking to us. It felt odd to hear him say that. I knew what he meant but I wished her less active role. Let her rest, I wanted to say. She’s earnt it. Let there be silence instead. That, I always find, speaks volumes. R.I.P x
He tells me how happy he is. I worried about retiring, he said this morning, and it’s bloody marvellous. I am glad. I am glad that he feels this way. And me? I cannot see it, visualise it. Work stresses me but it also grounds me. I have purpose. My life has form and structure. Who can say what is coming? Be satisfied. This is all of your choosing.
Another huge and weighty package of books came in the post from the Library. What a joy it is to receive them. I think I’ve always felt this way about books, and indeed, reading, though I’ve never articulated it to myself. As a child borrowed books from the public library were a source of delight and comfort, as were my school ones. And now these academic tomes, mostly about drawing as they are, fill me up. How blessed I am.
He didn’t mean to, but the clattering noises he was making at 10.45pm last night woke me. It broke my sleep, which unusually might have be an uninterrupted one. I will never know. I woke up dislodged, cross even. I didn’t want to walk, to do the usual morning chores. I must rally. It is nothing compared to all the chaos of lives out there.
He took them away. I expect to hear the noise of them but it has gone. The silence is beautiful, though not complete, for now I can hear the tick of my clocks.
Can I demand it? Can I insist that he takes them away? I want quiet. Peace. Those machines are demanding, my heart beats faster when they are on. Shall I trip their switches? I feel like it. Can I insist that he takes them away?
I have to believe in it. No, I do. I do believe whether I feel compelled to or not. I trust in it, even when all is bleak, as it so often is. Like now. Goodness will come through and the good will survive and shine all that they have on the rest of us. Tyrants will not be rewarded. It cannot be so in a just world. Peace will come. Let it be fair, kind and lasting.
It was the tiniest hole, made by the rubbing of a water pipe from the back of the washing machine against the chipboard circle it feeds through. Is it anyone’s fault? Possibly. So much damage, not just in this flat but several below. I am sorry for us and for them. The machines blast away trying to dry it all out. They stole my sleep and my equanimity. I need to be steady now. Calm down, work and get my body out of its flight mode. All will be well. One day I will see it as a gift.
It’s been remiss of late. A tawdry showing. Sometimes it has come out in the late afternoon but always as a milky, half-hearted attempt. I know it is nothing. In the whole scheme of horrors that are currently being perpetrated, it is nothing. But I am lifted by sunshine. Can it come, soon?