The squalor of books, papers, folders and empty packing material has slowly begun to infect my working space (the sunroom). At first, it was contained - in my room, but over the week as I’ve lost energy, it’s just grown outside.
I woke up this morning and the whole stupid poem thing didn’t instantly upset me. That’s a good sign. A few hours later, that was no longer the case. There were a few layout edits that needed to be done to my poem before it’s carved in stone and those have been fixed. I was kind of hoping for some sort of apology, but it feels like I’m the one who needs to apologise. I definitely need to apologise my friend who called last night and copped a fair bit of my (self-directed) anger which was incredibly stupid given that she was exhausted and still found the time to see how things were with me.
She invited me to spend a few days with her where she’s housesitting and I’m looking forward to that. It’ll be nice to have a space where I can be myself. A lot lately, it seems like I have to pretend to be this statue and remain as quiet and non-obtrusive as possible - like when our family go out for meals. No one talks to me and so I just sit there quietly eating my food, secretly waiting for the evening to be over. I do try to start conversation but that generally doesn’t go down very well because I bore them. That was what Wednesday evening was like, anyway. But at least I got to eat some divine handmade gnocchi.
Today, I’m planning to clean my room before going to stay over elsewhere. It’s always nice to come back from somewhere to a clean room, like a fresh start. I know why it’s a mess - I’m just having trouble handling lots of things in my head. But like one’s thoughts, where to begin cleaning the mess? Is there any point, given that the mess will return? One can only ignore it for so long, alas. Or perhaps mess is natural, and lack of is not.
