It’s still blowing out there and I take my comfort where I can from a warm bath, and smells, such as raspberry butter on my skin and lemon oil in my hair and radio 3 (though that can be a hit a miss experience though the voices are friendly). I talk myself through the fear I have built up around filling in the form (again). Take it bit by bit, I say. Treat it like a job, detach yourself and just do it. I made a start. The title is there, and my details and the amount I intend to ask for. A not inconsiderable amount, he said. And it isn’t. And it is public money, so why shouldn’t I bleed for it? And I do so want to do the work. To make the work. Shouldn’t that be inspiration enough? Look what it would give you, and others. And all from your little brain. That’s good isn’t it?
He texts his friend and the Chemo symptoms were not so bad. I am glad. I feel his fear too. And why shouldn’t he feel it? We are but children after all.
And now the threat of invasion is back again. Will they reach some sort of compromise? Can’t world peace be tried?
I need to gather my good dreams to me. The moon brought this one, I think. There are four, she said, and I knew that she included me in that number, though nothing was actually said. I also knew that she meant who were potential firsts. I was pleased but worried that I wouldn’t match up. And then she wanted to borrow my pen and I gave it and she left me with a red one, both of us knowing that my ability to draw would be impaired. Was it a test to still see what I could do? And then there was a child who came to tell me something had come in the post for me. And then I was there opening these strange envelopes with drawings, notes and hand-made objects in them. I was delighted yet bemused. And I tried to draw but couldn’t, all the while thinking of her belief in me.
Is it full today?
