Oh Blimey, it’s been months. No bloggety blog. I just ran out of things to say. I always want to write either something ever-so-profound-and-meaningful, or something exquisitely amusing, or something helpful for those of wobblesome brains like me. But I didn’t have anything so I just shut up for a bit.
I’m pretty sure this entry is going to fall way between the cracks of those categories, but I remembered I like writing, and I like reading what I write. I don’t know how many others of you like reading it, but I hope some of you do. I have the good old creativity-crushing gremlins sitting on my shoulders whispering annoying negative bumpf as usual, but I have decided to silence them with a metaphorical milkmaid’s pail shoulder stick thingy. Consider them squished by heavy pails of my favourite chocolate milkshake, as I sing ‘any mee-eeeelk today Mister?’ from Oliver to drown out any negative squeakings.
Something happened in August. I didn’t want to go out and see ANYONE AT ALL. I didn’t want to call anyone, I just wanted to stay in my house in an interaction-free stasis. I wasn’t sad, I’d just had enough of the outside world. I felt like I never wanted to return to manic my-life. I wanted to sit and do calm projects of making things.
But I didn’t start making anything much because happily my self-motivated stasis coincided with the Olympics, which is my favourite thing in the whole world even when Gail isn’t in it, so my regime became work, home, 6 hours of couch spud Olympics viewing, toast, sleep. Repeat x 15.
Bloody loved it.
I’m beginning to believe more and more in the power of quiet. And that rest is not an indulgence only to be countenanced when you have obliterated yourself into too-tired by manic life again. I am absolutely shite at resting when I’m not asleep, and before 11:45pm. Life on a pedalo seems to involve a whole lot of pedalling most of the time. And I’ve only got me to look after, Lord knows how you lot who have other people to take care of manage it. I need to get better at rest. At saying no far more often. And turning off all sounds that I can manage.
If you haven’t had 5 minutes of non-work silence today, indulge yourself. Try and grab it. See if you can listen to the quiet. If God is the still small voice of calm, no wonder I can’t bloody hear him hardly ever with my brain and my life shouting over the top all the frickin time.
And I’m trying to grab chances to be creative whenever I can. I’m not very good at finishing anything of course, so currently I have
- a folder of typed-out-on-antique-typewriter poems sitting unscanned and unuploaded (for which peut-etre the world is still grateful for at this point)
- My garage has 6 old kart wheels and assorted bits of wood and nearly had Jimmy’s ironing board, ready to become components of Crazy Sunny’s Crazy Golf course. I became nuts about scouring old skips for discarded carpet for this in August, but seem to have not actually built anything
- I have 95% made a coggy pendulum clock which involved a lot of Sunny-with-no-patience character building instructions of ‘wait for glue to dry’. Aargh. Waited, but now have fallen at last hurdle of finding a rawl plug and drill bit to attach to wall.
- I have a marvelous idea for a costume for work’s Christmas party, for which I am wearing fancy dress even if no one else is. But nothing more than an idea at this stage
- I have a nearly-dragon bonfire pit for Chris’ birthday party. Sweepstake on whether it ever gets a tail and wings? It looks incredibly horsen at the moment. (Can’t spoil the surprise with piccies)
Somehow, August finished and manic life started whizzing at top speed again in September. I’m still really hankering after times of quiet and evenings in, but woefully failing and have been out every evening on the trot for weeks. Sigh. I really do want to get better at balancing this stuff. I will keep trying.
I hope you liked this post even if not epically deep, amusing or helpful. It’s nice to be back typing again.