"you don’t feel like it before you start. you feel like it once you’re underway, and you’re making progress, and you’re solving problems"
Belle's thought for the day. Spot on. I've spent so much of my life stuck between neutral and first gear, wanting to get going, but somehow not being able to start (it won't work, do this instead blah blah blah). Only nuclear explosions of the emotional kind seem big enough to force me off the starting blocks. And the answer to that overwhelming frustration has always been 'let's get hammered' instead.
meditation. it's not distraction, it's illusion. i become the thought, the daydream, the memory, until i remember the trail of pebbles, breadcrumbs, the thread that leads me out of the labyrinth and back up to the light. Hansel and Gretel - the gingerbread house as the palace of the ego, the dark forest the unconscious, father and stepmother disappointing / frightening normality. The wicked witch?
Another nightmare. Jane E's. Sal organised a get together. Ian and Helen still alive. Some weird house in London. Johnny and Sal on top form (NOT!). Stuart's version of my family (?!?) being read / performed but he's not changed the names. Am I worried about Christmas? Families? Felt so confused. So many dead people alive again.
woke up feeling I have alzheimers - I don't know what is going on. Did I ever? Did alcohol just cover up my basic confusion?
I've finished the table. Paint it, maybe. Sand it, maybe. Or leave it rough, the glass top is finish enough. I've just decided it's finished.
Finishing things - Metanoia, the table, poems, Pol . . . = death.
My OCD tidying, getting sacked, stopping drinking - esp the last - is that dementia, not sanity? or fear of death?
The little difficulties; cutting mitres, figuring out the table joints.
But, all the sorting out on my computer.
Belle's thought for the day. Spot on. I've spent so much of my life stuck between neutral and first gear, wanting to get going, but somehow not being able to start (it won't work, do this instead blah blah blah). Only nuclear explosions of the emotional kind seem big enough to force me off the starting blocks. And the answer to that overwhelming frustration has always been 'let's get hammered' instead.
meditation. it's not distraction, it's illusion. i become the thought, the daydream, the memory, until i remember the trail of pebbles, breadcrumbs, the thread that leads me out of the labyrinth and back up to the light. Hansel and Gretel - the gingerbread house as the palace of the ego, the dark forest the unconscious, father and stepmother disappointing / frightening normality. The wicked witch?
Another nightmare. Jane E's. Sal organised a get together. Ian and Helen still alive. Some weird house in London. Johnny and Sal on top form (NOT!). Stuart's version of my family (?!?) being read / performed but he's not changed the names. Am I worried about Christmas? Families? Felt so confused. So many dead people alive again.
woke up feeling I have alzheimers - I don't know what is going on. Did I ever? Did alcohol just cover up my basic confusion?
I've finished the table. Paint it, maybe. Sand it, maybe. Or leave it rough, the glass top is finish enough. I've just decided it's finished.
Finishing things - Metanoia, the table, poems, Pol . . . = death.
My OCD tidying, getting sacked, stopping drinking - esp the last - is that dementia, not sanity? or fear of death?
The little difficulties; cutting mitres, figuring out the table joints.
But, all the sorting out on my computer.
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Say anything you like. I do.