Monday, 13 July 2009

A strange night. Dogged, faithful return to the toilet every half hour, knowing my stomach has nothing left in it to force out. My body is very good at making me get out of bed when it has a point to enforce.

Look after yourself.

To be honest, I got the message fairly quickly.

But my stomach wanted to make sure I really understood.

Sorry to do this, but...

Look after yourself.

Look after yourself.

Or this will keep happening.

Yes, I know you're tired... keep listening.

Look after yourself. You know how, now.


And it's not over today. I'm not being allowed to treat this as a rest day, an activity day, a lazy day. I'm very aware of the meaning of this constant neck ache, the head ache, the restlessness, the knowing I have to just wait. Attend. Attune. It's a painful process. Seeing that this isn't the first time I've been told, it's obviously been extended this time, for memorability. It humbles me, every time, but it's time for some hard work now. Or rather, tomorrow. For now, I'll be held hostage some time longer.

I don't know whether it's relevant, but I dreamt I'd woken up and lost part of my leg. A straight cut, diagonal. I plonked it back into position, but not seamlessly. And it needed attention before it died off. I wiggled my toes. Still semi tangible. That didn't make sense. Were the nerve tissues still touching, like copper wire? Richard wouldn't take me to hospital. 999 didn't work from my mobile; I eventually figured out I had to dial 086. The woman on the other end of the phone was useless and hung up on me. I didn't think, for a second, that it wasn't real. When I woke up, it was like coming back from a long trip away, from somewhere that definitely existed. I wiggled my toes again. I'm now unafraid of losing a limb, but can't make any other connections. Feel free to deconstruct that one for me while I sup my chamomile and surrender to the superior authority of the body that allows me to move in the world.

Friday, 3 July 2009

Pirate Craft Legionnaire

Phew for rain.

I have a languid dog poking me in the back with her stretch legs. I have my dressing gown on.

Hello.. :)

It's day-off day. Tomorrow, it is Saturday. Today might be Sewingday. Or Drawingday. I haven't decided, but Rosie (new friend from work) has inspired me to not be angst creative, just make stuff and not mind what happens. In her words, 'the more you make, the more ideas you have'. Like Sly Stallone saying 'DO IT' but differently. Thus endeth the "Chicken-egg-chicken-egg, oh I'm in a scramble, what to do?" - that thing. She has a soft spoken way. And she really likes making stuff, but is not stupidly young and out to prove her identity, so there is none of this:

"I am creating something.
I want it to be better
and cooler
than anything
or anyone else
is doing.

Look at how alternative I am.

I hate the term 'alternative'.
I prefer 'pirate craft legionnaire' as a definition of my role in the arts world."

(You know who you are. I don't really mind you. You're quite funny when you're not trying to be funny.)