I have done it again: overdone it; and now have to undo the doings that I did, and also but not only dismantle the commitments and say goodbye to Shrink, which in psychoanalytic is usually a long, drawn-out goodbye but will have to be a little less so. It’s a pain in every sense. I now know without a shadow of a doubt that I cannot do regular driving trips of any distance, it’s madness, I should know better, I do know better. My bones and muscles are not happy, actually they are furious about something or other (the driving seat, the desk chair?) and I should have seen an osteopath this morning but cancelled. Too much. Brain hurts, I am dizzy, an unhinged marionette, excuse me rabbitting and do feel free to wander off while I talk to myself, but if you are still here and interested:
Today: there is poetry workshopping, it’s a once monthly group and I’ve let go of so much else I want to hang on to this one.
Tomorrow: nothing in the day but people coming for dinner, this has been planned and re-planned for months. Chicken tagine and fruit fool, can prepare in advance, but.
Monday: niece is coming for the day (also planned and re-planned), needs to be collected, picnicked, taken to a local May fair – nothing loud and brash, more of a garden party plus with people dancing around a maypole, tea and cake, arts and crafts.
Tuesday: shrinky (see above), and later a dear and much-travelled friend coming to stay for a couple of nights, can’t re-plan this as she has work to do in the area and anyway. I’ll have to say that I won’t be up to any conversation until
Wednesday: nothing planned, but.
Yesterday I wrote 1,000 words and it felt good. But afterwards it felt like I was doing the browbeating, heavy, leather, resurrection shuffle. But without actions and music.
I am somewhat unravelled, reader, the yarn is everywhere
9 comments:
I am somewhat unravelled, reader, the yarn is everywhere.
I'm sorry to hear this.
I may be wrong, but somehow before I got to this final sentence, I had a sense that you were managing to tidy it up after you as it unravelled.
But whether I'm right or wrong, I wish you rest and recuperation.
hey signs, sorry that you have unravelled but you are still spinning a fair bit at your wheel!
the week you describe seems so full, i could never manage this much.
btw what do you think of carol ann duffy being poet laureate?
Still here and interested, Signs. I hope things ease up. I'm thinking of you in your garden.
Let someone else pick up the threads, or let them dangle. Just don't let the cat swallow them.
hugs. gentle ones.
Thanks Trousers, I think it is marvellous what one can do just by setting it down and telling how it is, so I think you are probably right. I am resting in the spaces, or above them.
NMJ, I wrote a poem once with the image of spinning - spinning straw into gold. It just came back to me there.
Re Carol Ann - I've just decided to put up a post.
Mim, I just had a quick look at your garden also. Your presence and interest appreciated.
Zhoen, they must have had some good effect, those gentle ones. Still somewhat unravelled, but fortunately the cat is suddenly very taken with chasing her tail again.
Good night, dear Peeps
That's a packed week my dear. I can just about cope with the childrens' chums descending and shuffling them off at tea time but I could never do all you planned. Still, it really does stick in the craw when you so want to do things and your bod won't let you. I get so sick of cancelling, postponing, rearranging and I also always feel so guilty about messing people about.
Glad to see that a couple of days after this post you had retrieved sufficient yarn to knot a good post about C.A.D
Hang on a minute there, Cusp - I do not have young children living at home, with all that this entails. Time and motion study would give you the gold stars, without doubt.
I actually put up the C.A.D. post the same day as this one! I know, it doesn't make sense. A rogue blast of second wind. I had a weird night and migrainey day to make up for it but feel ok now, though I've done everything I shouldn't have and had wine to boot.
I have taken the time to acquaint myself with ME.
I am overwhelmed, yet am curious - sometimes thinking that the suffering people are metaphors for the suffering earth - which ties in with the story of the gentleman acupuncturist.
Perhaps there is a point when metaphor drops its mask, and is no longer a gentle literary trope.
I don't think we are metaphors, Montag - we are also the earth, and what happens to and within it happens also in us. We are also, if you like, barometers or (as I've said before) a kind of miner's canary. Stick us into an environment and we will soon tell you if it is unhealthy. It is also worth considering that in an age where people are always busy and expect to do more and more, we have to think about everything we do. It's good of you to acquaint yourself with M.E. Most people don't unless they have to.
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