Serendipity (248)

I worked intensely yesterday. It is exhausting. Not so much for the act of writing but the taking on of my fears. And yet it was such a good process to go through. Both of them were. Nothing may come of them. It doesn’t really matter, though I’d love to be selected for the last one. But I don’t know if I got myself across well enough. Was I clear, non-wanky and lucid? Did I put across a good idea? Aagh, there is nothing more I can do. But there is no doubt that I feel better about myself for having worked well, and given my best. And then I go upstairs to make lunch and do some yoga and there’s a woman talking on the radio about the same thing I wrote about. And she was discussing it with the same uncertainties I have. Serendipity, beautiful, powerful happenchance. I felt held. The afternoon brought a long sleep and dreams of the picture hanging in his bedroom. I was looking down on it from a balcony in a photographer’s studio. I’d been out for a walk but there had been two wild cats I’d seen chasing a herd of what? Wildebeest? And yet, I was sure I was in Scandinavia. I wanted to report it but didn’t know how. Then I couldn’t find my way home and returned to the photographer. I got vertigo on the balcony this time. And he, who was now in my dream, was convinced the photographer wanted to buy my picture and was mouthing a price to me. I felt excited. V. came through the door with several people, I thought I’d ask her about the lions, (or were they pumas?) but she was drunk. M. from work was there too and was disdainful about my desire to take action. Just leave them, she said. But people were screaming, I said.

A sorting day. A cupboard and set of shelving done. It feels better but the satisfaction only lasts for a short while. I re-arranged some of his drawers too. He hates change. Will he be cross?

I didn’t walk. It has thrown me. The wind and rain were too much. He says he’ll take me to the Prom this afternoon for a blow.

She answered. I’d woken her up. We talked of nurseries, carrots with worms and the weather. Her runner beans are doing well.  She lets me in. For those 15 minutes I give her my attention. And it all matters, every last thing. Bless her for her sweetness.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.