Life is what happens while you're making other plans and waiting for viruses (please don't tell me the plural is viri - I looked it up, and it isn't) to fade away. But sometimes there is the spooky sense that life is a long-playing record (you probably don't remember those) where the needle gets stuck and repeats things over and over. Spying on myself this time last year, blog post reads:
Life is disconcertingly beautiful right now, primarily because of spring and all its attendant glories of bud, leaf and clear sky after such a long and unforgiving winter that it seemed the White Witch had gotten dominion and even I (one of its greatest erstwhile fans) turned my back on it.
You said it, Signs-of-Yesteryear - and snap, it's just about the same situation this year. Are you surprised? You weren't to know, but we had another White Witch of a winter, probably longer and harder than the one you just experienced, and don't you know everything is lovely in the garden again. But from my vantage point of being one year ahead of you I just have to say: no matter how disconcertingly beautiful Life looks to you right now, S-o-Y, most of your optimistically visualised plans and projects will not come to anything very much because White Witch will still hold sway in the realm of your neurologically diseased body; you will have to give up the swimming, your own personal Graded Exercise Therapy, which you have convinced yourself represents some new way forward; at this very point when all the tree in you is preparing to open up exquisite and radiant, there are elements waiting to cut, shrivel and freeze you, branch, leaf and flower, people and situations you should not trust, bitter lessons to learn (and really, it is high time). But dammit, I rather like you, and with a few caveats am set on almost the same road that you were: with the plans, I mean - the Writing.
Recent virus seems to have manifested some kind of afterbirth, or left a dark shadow of itself behind. Choir practice last night left me flattened and coughing, I left early, probably to the relief of the altos and tenors on either side of me. Another dental appointment cancelled (he will stop loving me, for sure), glands up, throat hot - etc. Saturday is several hours of afternoon rehearsal followed by concert. How shall I manage it and what would you do, Signs-of-Yesteryear - you'd go for it, wouldn't you - take drugs and go for it, eh girl, and believe in the best of all possible outcomes? We're so alike.
10 comments:
Just keep up the courage. As you do.
Not fair! I hope you won't give up.
They always do linger.....that 'cold' I had just after Xmas...such a simple short word for something so nasty...is still having some imapct.
Take care of yourself and take small parts in enjoyable stuff when you can
x
Thanks folks,
I've no intention at all of giving up - and still keep expecting everything to turn out fine! Signs-of-next-year may be shaking her head at me, but -
drugs... whatever ... you must sing this glorious thing!! will be thinking of you.
WV - nonces
I think so too, F B :)
(I prefer eledfor - sounds Elvish)
Dearest Schwesterlein - how unfair it all is, how undeserving of it all are you. Obviously, this does not include The Spring, of which you are most deserving.
Hope the bastard thing fucks right off - now I've sworn but it's for a good cause, right?
x
(WV: voyero. Hmmm.)
Aber Schwes! Ich bin sehr flattered dass du dein soul perjures mit schwearing all for the cause of Signs - danke, danke, and say the F word louder, perhaps, to make sure the Powers that Be hear you. For they sure as damn don't hear me. Perhaps I need to say it on blog for it to be effective. Fuck off (not you, the bastard thing, obviously). There, that should do it.
Send ethereal gleamings and voyero the proceedings!
nein, halt, warte, hang on just a minute there - did I say the cause of Signs and reveal myself to be no more than a mewling egoiste? Pschaw! (as they used to say in the good old days, at least in American children's books like What Katy Did). It is in the cause of Amadeus M. that we are both risking extra weeks in Purgatory, and in the cause of Music, not to mention Gawd Almight His Very Self (it a Mass innit). Swear on, Schwes - blast the bastard!
What a tangled web that plural of "virus" business is!
"Viri" already means "men" so that's just silly. (I'd just use it as a collective noun, like "deer", and there ain't no plural. We talk about "strains", not distinct individuals...)
We have plunged into the South yesterday, and it is spring: allergy time! Where we live, trees are just thinking about getting their act together, whereas down here, Act I has started and you won't be seated until the intermish.
A little scratchy throat, minor congestation while laying abed while a fan blows over me, spreading allergens evenly.
Still I feel rather good.
The point being...
Carry on, Signs!
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