Tuesday, 2 September 2008


I am tired. I've got weary limbs, snappy voice and the feeling of martyrdom is edging under my duvet and reaching out to the morning sun. I am wishing for absent mornings, writing and not being asked too many questions. The baby hormones are slowly drifting away and I can feel myself speeding up, saying yes and making far too many telephone calls. I am in need of long lunches, total illogical thought and to be unstructured and unobliged. I need to undo stitches, read backwards and forget. Memory is my millstone, I cannot forget what I must do, the lists of tasks build up inside my brain in extraordinary pyramid contructions. I constantly add more playing cards, marvel at the fragile structure. I continue to live as I began as a child busying myself from dawn till dusk, filling time with action, planning, organising and forgetting to breath. At the age of seven I created my own timetable for after school and weekend time- filled with sections on reading, gardening, practising drama and play. Scheduled play. Am I running from death or making the most of every tiny second that I'm here? Four months after my birth I nearly lost my life in an accident where my sister died - time stopped and we were marked forever.

1 comment:

Catherine said...

Thanks for your supportive comment. I see from your blog that there is also this tension between the structured and the unexpected, unlogical, in and out of the box. You express it beautifully, with winding sentences and meandering words. We keep aiming for higher and more meaninful in the everyday.