The eleven-year anniversary of this blog....
Well, hey, it matters to me. A bit.
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After a brief but unpleasant virus – probably caught on that hasty train south and back – everything has a slightly disconnected feel to it: still coughing occasionally, but so what?... work to do, but really, who needs it?...
Shower, laundry, get myself dressed enough to go buy cough drops... then home and a Skype workshop, prefaced by a 'recovering, so everyone go away' message, and watch without participating.
The overlap in the past few years of analysis, the resultant digging in deep cellars, a vast increase in meaning, followed by a recurrence of that life pattern where fantasies of things I thought I wanted are taken away at a level beyond my control – perhaps this is the pattern I struggle with: a pattern about which I'm happy to make stories (like that last blog post), but uncomfortable accepting as truly mine.
And maybe that dislocated, dissociated, quasi-schizoid space between waking and sleeping, between sick and full of medications and awake and recovering, is always and innately the best place to see all of this...
Yet, disconnected. Not quite like a Kafka, or PKD, story – this is calmer, but it highlights the slight unreality of things....
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Spring, with clouds and some rain.
Awareness, with some darkness.
Return to health, with some coughing.
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Eleven years of occasionally writing, here – 753 posts, so that makes... 1.3 posts per week.
Time, space... a nearly Buddhist sense of the contingency of decisions and actions.
I may cancel some plans... that seems reasonable enough. Like reducing noise levels.
•••
You'd like the sun: that North Sea slanting, pale light, but brighter than usual – it would be beautiful to paint it....
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