I’ve had a bit of a rocky weekend, what with one thing and another, but I’m okay now, having spent the morning immersed in writing - The Christmas Story is now topping 18,000 words - and this afternoon thus far seeking out and registering on a distance learning course and making a tentative plan on The Future of Me which seems to be changing on a week-by-week basis. I’ve tried not to feel irked by this constant swinging between ‘Shall I do this, or that or the other?’ attempting instead to go with the flow of each idea and test out the thoughts they raise. The problem is I am so used to making a decision and going with it, or having some sort of regime or timetable to my life I am finding this looseness of structure somewhat discombobulating. I was going to say ‘disconcerting’ but isn’t ‘discombobulating’ a much more fun word? I think so.
Serendipitously - another good word - I’ve also been able to exchange a series of reassuring and ‘Go us!’ emails with an old and dear friend which has helped us both, I think, and we are pushing on and through our respective hoo-ha’s together in a ‘Girl Power’ kind of way only with less squealing and wearing of hot-pants and more drawing on the shared experiences of our lives as daughters, wives, mothers and grandparents.
Basically, sometimes one just has to gird one’s loins, accept that life sometimes reassesses itself and imposes changes over which one has no say or control, maybe have a good cry and a long sleep, then get up and get on with tackling the new dinner on one’s plate. That’s an analogy, by the way, not a literal comment on emotional eating. I’ve not been sitting here chomping my way through my angst. Luckily, the cake tin is empty because if it wasn’t, it darn well would have been by 11 a.m today.
I’d planned to go into town this morning just to have a mooch around, maybe visit the library. But I didn’t because I got involved in writing, reading and sheep watching. The sheep are coming right up to the house now, and I caused only a minor stampede when I visited the green waste bin to dispose of some veg peelings. The two recumbent sheep in the forefront of this photo have settled atop Vladimir, our septic tank...
On Saturday evening, his Lordship Malarkey and I went to see the comedian, Hal Cruttenden, who was playing at our local Festival Centre. A very entertaining couple of hours, and I think he soon got the idea he was playing to an audience in a Tory stronghold with a ‘Leave the EU’ majority vote. Like a vast majority of comedians these days, Mr Cruttenden is of middle class liberal persuasion, but he did make me laugh and we are all entitled to our political opinions, aren’t we? Yes, even us Tory Brexiteers.
This morning, I FaceTimed my Mum. She has her post-op appointment on Thursday, it being almost 6 weeks since her hip replacement. She is fine and dandy, raring to get the all clear to start driving again. She has only just noticed I’ve had my hair cut shorter. 🙄
Tootsie continues to patrol the courtyard in search of bits of discarded bird seed and fat ball. He has encouraged the others to join in. This is unsatisfactory but I cannot be bothered to do anything about it at the moment. I also cannot be bothered to go ahead with my plan to make Christmas crackers. Home made cards will have to suffice.
It’s 4.30 p.m and almost dark outside. Time to prise myself off the sofa, light the fire and think about what to have for dinner this evening.
Serendipitously - another good word - I’ve also been able to exchange a series of reassuring and ‘Go us!’ emails with an old and dear friend which has helped us both, I think, and we are pushing on and through our respective hoo-ha’s together in a ‘Girl Power’ kind of way only with less squealing and wearing of hot-pants and more drawing on the shared experiences of our lives as daughters, wives, mothers and grandparents.
Basically, sometimes one just has to gird one’s loins, accept that life sometimes reassesses itself and imposes changes over which one has no say or control, maybe have a good cry and a long sleep, then get up and get on with tackling the new dinner on one’s plate. That’s an analogy, by the way, not a literal comment on emotional eating. I’ve not been sitting here chomping my way through my angst. Luckily, the cake tin is empty because if it wasn’t, it darn well would have been by 11 a.m today.
I’d planned to go into town this morning just to have a mooch around, maybe visit the library. But I didn’t because I got involved in writing, reading and sheep watching. The sheep are coming right up to the house now, and I caused only a minor stampede when I visited the green waste bin to dispose of some veg peelings. The two recumbent sheep in the forefront of this photo have settled atop Vladimir, our septic tank...
On Saturday evening, his Lordship Malarkey and I went to see the comedian, Hal Cruttenden, who was playing at our local Festival Centre. A very entertaining couple of hours, and I think he soon got the idea he was playing to an audience in a Tory stronghold with a ‘Leave the EU’ majority vote. Like a vast majority of comedians these days, Mr Cruttenden is of middle class liberal persuasion, but he did make me laugh and we are all entitled to our political opinions, aren’t we? Yes, even us Tory Brexiteers.
This morning, I FaceTimed my Mum. She has her post-op appointment on Thursday, it being almost 6 weeks since her hip replacement. She is fine and dandy, raring to get the all clear to start driving again. She has only just noticed I’ve had my hair cut shorter. 🙄
Tootsie continues to patrol the courtyard in search of bits of discarded bird seed and fat ball. He has encouraged the others to join in. This is unsatisfactory but I cannot be bothered to do anything about it at the moment. I also cannot be bothered to go ahead with my plan to make Christmas crackers. Home made cards will have to suffice.
It’s 4.30 p.m and almost dark outside. Time to prise myself off the sofa, light the fire and think about what to have for dinner this evening.
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KJ