Archives for the month of: June, 2013

A new home, a sleeping cat and a freshly typed manuscript of a short story. Not just any short story… my first.

7228 words, ready to be proof read and entered into a competition.

Just six months ago, I would have laughed at you, had you told me I was a writer.

Funny how life is…

I’m in. I’m surrounded by boxes. And I’m happy as a pig in poop. I threw away 10 bin bags of rubbish from the old place. Yeah! You heard right. 10. Rubbish. 10 bags of rubbish. I have one bag of confidential rubbish left. I want to burn it.

I’ve spent a week washing curtains. I wanted to put my own up, but the drop in the new place is 2 foot longer. So I washed the ones left in the new place so they would smell of me.

I decorated the bedroom and half decorated the bathroom and moved things from one box to another, to another, to another… You know like those games where you have to push blocks around a maze?

I was going to bed at sun down and rising at sun up. Or when the work men next door woke me, which ever happened earlier. I finally started to lose that weight that I thought I’d lose when I started working.

I’ve rebuilt all my furniture. Felt home sick for my old place. Cried because I knew my Nan would have loved this house. Watched the cat explore her new surroundings and been so excited that I have to make myself not let her in the garden until she’s had her boosters.

I handed in the keys to the old place. I drank the bottle of Lanson I was saving. I finally broke and put the computer together. I watched the rain on my new windows and I turned on my new gas fire. I managed not to kill my orchids in the move.

Laura Mvula is right…

Diamonds
Sometimes the grass ain’t greener on the other side.
Maybe the sky is clearer in another place.

But you got diamonds under your feet.
But you got diamonds in your heart.

Waiting for a day of change to come.
And you’re beautiful, dancing in a gloomy store.

But you got diamonds under your feet.
But you got diamonds in your heart.
But you got diamonds in your heart.

Change did come… and the grass is greener. Even in the gloom of bereavement, I can see blue sky. I hope things keep changing for the better. It’s been a tough year. I have forgotten Om Mane Padme Hum on a Wednesday, usually remembering on Thursday morning.

I have four weeks of work left. A manuscript to type up still. And there are walks to be had. There is a heart to finish. How long can I live with all these boxes before they start to drive me nuts?

My friend has given me the information I need for a counselling course that starts in September and I am tempted to take a Painting and Decorating class too. I have funding to apply for, so I can continue the Patchwork Poems.

Life goes on.

Om Mane Padme Hum.

Hey old friends, hey new friends, I see you!

I’m one room done and ARGH more to go! The house is upside down and I’m thinking back to the last time I moved. I packed and moved in one day, in a transit. Oh. My. Days. I have too much stuff now.

When I try and get rid of stuff I end up holding on to it. I got rid of lots when the ex moved in and I’m stood in the middle of this big mess thinking, I NEED to get rid of more. This stuff is making me ill.

To help me, I have told my India pal (who is going to South Africa this time) that I am going to let her have the proceeds from a car boot sale. A promise is a promise. So far I have boxed 3 ornaments. I might need to look a bit closer at what I can let go.

Books. There are hundreds of books. I used to need new books like air. When did the acquisition of stuff stop mattering and why can’t I let go of stuff I no longer want or need? I know when it’s gone I will not miss it. So why cling to it?

As another tool of letting go, I have decided that only things of quality can remain in the new house. Anything that is not quality goes in the garden, to be sorted for fund raising for South Africa or for the local charity shop.

And then, my cousin asks me, do I want any of my Nan’s stuff.

It’s not often my Dyslexia is a disability to me. So when it is, it always comes as a surprise. A huge traumatic surprise.Because I am tired and grieving and ill my dyslexia is in overdrive. I am over whelmed and feel unable to cope.

People keep asking me questions that I am unable to answer and as a consequence they think that I am being obstructive.Then I have to have all these communication battles to assert to the other person, that I am not dim, I am not being awkward, I simply do not know!

I am unable to move, because of this, I have lost a job because of this and the thought of having a relationship full of battles makes me want to crawl inside myself for a very long time.

I have nothing left. again. There is a meme on FB about a cat who is writing a diary about being held captive by hoomans… I feel like that cat. I feel like the donkey with the poorly leg in the advert; the one that always make me cry.

I feel lonely.

Or at least I did till the following happened:

1) A friend called to say hello

2) The man in a government office went out of his way to help me, even though I was crying and incoherent at times. He spent two hours working through the issues I was having. And, he stayed with me, empathically.

3) A colleague and friend of mine told me my word was golden and that she could wait for me to giver her some info.

4) A new friend who is young and who I would love to be my daughter has offered to take me on holiday. I will refuse of course, but what a wonderful gesture.

I have to go. I have to call my friend, who had to wait to say hello, till all of the above unfolded.

I may feel lonely, but I am not alone.