Saturday 30.xii.2017
I like being sober. It feels cool. It always seemed like such a crap thing to be, sad and boring and dull, but it isn't and I'm not. As Belle says today, it suits me. Nice few days with Charles D. Funny walk this afternoon - Waitrose, the library - The Best British Poets of 2015, the Kuni charity shop, the houses, my video "poem" walking down the road. Selima Hill's poem and Andrew Elliott's. The weather. Finding out I still have £100 and it's nearly New year. Taking the train to Hattrick's tomorrow - she's meeting me at Diss at 16:09. Meeting Morag, Charles' new squeeze, who's tiny and pretty and feisty and fun. A recipe for partridge pie. Eating too much. Wearing Sukie's new pyjamas.
Dreadful night. Thought I had eaten too much but it was my blood pressure. I haven't felt this bad since my sojourn at the Hotel Les Amis in Athens on the way back from Naxos. And I realise that the first time I felt like this was when Charles and I went skiing on our own at Pordoi, and I woke up every morning feeling like I was going to die. I think that was 2008. I thought it was the altitude then. Since then I've assumed it's alcohol, but that's presumably not why I feel so shit now. Smoking next?
Weird / nice synchronicity - Belle's book has got to day 87 (of her writing for 100 days) and my day 87 is tomorrow - New Year's Day 2018. This calls for a drink. And yes, she started writing her book on October 5th - the day before my last drink and I found her website / blog.
A man has just ejected an American woman from "his seat" when the seat next to me is free, on the aisle, with a table, just like his. Spect it's because he comes from Swindon and has some chip on his shoulder. And the next carriage is empty.
I realise that Belle's writing Day 87 and her little pre-write (that she really has written something everyday, no matter what, for 87 days) is a clue for me. That is what I should do with Metanoia, starting today - every day, a line at least, no exceptions. So here I go . . .
. . . and just as I update the blog, and add some labels, I notice that in all the last 86 days I have never labelled anything Metanoia. I have thought about it, even written a paragraph or two. And now, as I think to do today's bit, I'm already coming up with things I need to do first like proofread more of Stuart's book. NO. I WILL NOT.
I like being sober. It feels cool. It always seemed like such a crap thing to be, sad and boring and dull, but it isn't and I'm not. As Belle says today, it suits me. Nice few days with Charles D. Funny walk this afternoon - Waitrose, the library - The Best British Poets of 2015, the Kuni charity shop, the houses, my video "poem" walking down the road. Selima Hill's poem and Andrew Elliott's. The weather. Finding out I still have £100 and it's nearly New year. Taking the train to Hattrick's tomorrow - she's meeting me at Diss at 16:09. Meeting Morag, Charles' new squeeze, who's tiny and pretty and feisty and fun. A recipe for partridge pie. Eating too much. Wearing Sukie's new pyjamas.
Dreadful night. Thought I had eaten too much but it was my blood pressure. I haven't felt this bad since my sojourn at the Hotel Les Amis in Athens on the way back from Naxos. And I realise that the first time I felt like this was when Charles and I went skiing on our own at Pordoi, and I woke up every morning feeling like I was going to die. I think that was 2008. I thought it was the altitude then. Since then I've assumed it's alcohol, but that's presumably not why I feel so shit now. Smoking next?
Weird / nice synchronicity - Belle's book has got to day 87 (of her writing for 100 days) and my day 87 is tomorrow - New Year's Day 2018. This calls for a drink. And yes, she started writing her book on October 5th - the day before my last drink and I found her website / blog.
A man has just ejected an American woman from "his seat" when the seat next to me is free, on the aisle, with a table, just like his. Spect it's because he comes from Swindon and has some chip on his shoulder. And the next carriage is empty.
I realise that Belle's writing Day 87 and her little pre-write (that she really has written something everyday, no matter what, for 87 days) is a clue for me. That is what I should do with Metanoia, starting today - every day, a line at least, no exceptions. So here I go . . .
. . . and just as I update the blog, and add some labels, I notice that in all the last 86 days I have never labelled anything Metanoia. I have thought about it, even written a paragraph or two. And now, as I think to do today's bit, I'm already coming up with things I need to do first like proofread more of Stuart's book. NO. I WILL NOT.
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