Post 28 of 92

4:26pm.  Creativity in art; writing, drawing, daydreaming ... I am so so at.  Creativity in avoidance I am a Master.  I can put off, postpone, ignore, reduce, forget, forget again, all in order not to face up to writing something that might mean something.  Or writing something that means nothing. 

When I remember how my journal and I were joined at the wrist when I traveled I marvel.  It was my best friend, confidante, release and strength.  Even if I didn't write well, I wrote easily, bravely, constantly.  I wrote when I was happy and strong, I wrote when I was weak and distressed.  I wrote sober, I wrote drunk.  I wrote all the time in all circumstances.  I wrote and wrote and wrote. 

Now I am seized up, constipated, cramped and chin full of cowardice.  Why?  I want to know why?  My life is not the exciting life of travel and new experiences.  I no longer ride the crests and troughs of love, but my life still has meaning.  I still have a life of the mind.  Don't I?

What I don't have is uninterrupted solitude.  Perhaps that's the difference.  My journal was my companion because when all was said and done; exploring, working, loving, at the end I was alone.  Now solitude is something rare.  Within minutes of coming in here Richard comes in too.  I'll leave you alone, he says when he sees I am blogging but the damage, so to speak is done. 

That 'pull' is back.  The pull to be with him, company for him because he is not company for himself.  Sad but true.  And the thread is lost and the desire is lost and it's 4:41pm.

Post 27 of 92

4:59pm.  Cloudy but no rain.    Tired but buzzing from an unaccustomed second cup of coffee after lunch.  Unwise for I get the shakes.  Not sleeping again after a good run of good sleep.  What a difference sleep or lack thereof makes.  Everything affected.   Never mind.  Good sleep will come again.  In the meantime, I just keep putting one foot in front of the other. 

My good friend, perhaps my best friend, Matisse, has made a habit of joining me on the yoga mat every afternoon.  He yells until I come get him (have to carry him from the living/kitchen pod to the yoga/studio pod).  Matisse has followed me in here now and is sitting on the second chair.  He is a loyal friend.  Old now.  Bony face, very dark coat, reluctant to jump up on the laundry bench where I used to put his food but still strong enough to open the magnet reinforced pocket door with his paw.  Richard can't.  I can but with difficulty.  We installed the magnets to try and keep him in so he wouldn't gorge on the other cats' food.  It didn't work.  Nevertheless he has aged, as have we all!

Matisse can be aggressive, badly aggressive to Nairobi, although he seems to have mellowed somewhat these last few  years, but he has never raised a paw in anger to either Richard or me.  Even loving Natalia can get overexcited and lash out in play aggression and we won't even speak of Nairobi who can be quite the nasty piece when annoyed, although she has mellowed too over time or maybe I just read her body language better. 

Matisse however is content to be near me, quietly purring.  He loves my lap when it's cool and often sits or lies so that his tail is draped over some part of my anatomy.  Introducing Mikaela into the mix has complicated his life but he has rallied and hisses mightily when he thinks she is crowding him.

I love him.  I hate that he is an old cat now but am so glad I've shared all these years, 14 years? with him.

post 26 of 92

4:58pm.  How I would love to be one of those lucky people who have an ear for languages.  I clearly do not.  Duolingo, bless it, has a new section where little vignettes are told through conversation.  They speak, or I assume they speak, 'normally'.  They speak and the words they speak are on the page so the student can follow.  Occasionally a phrase is spoken and not written so the student gets to practice writing what they hear.  This new section is very helpful and also quite depressing as after how many years of practicing French, I still don't understand it when it's spoken.  Studying has been invaluable in my ability to translate the written word in books, but understanding someone who is speaking French....hopeless. 

Occasionally we watch French films or catch the French news on SBS.   Occasionally I understand a word, sometimes two on a good day.  Even with subtitles I am unable to process what seems to be machine gun delivery.  Machine gun delivery delivered through a sieve,

And speaking?  If I were in France I would be arrested for cruelty in torturing a language in front of native speakers.  Quite sad.  Quite true.

So the little spoken vignettes, while illustrating how little I have mastered the language, are another way to practice and perhaps, improve.   C'est mon souhait.

Post 25 of 92

3:13pm.Well, it's been awhile.  About 6 weeks.  Almost dead in the water.  The computer was down for two weeks after a bad storm but that doesn't account for a month of silence.  Was a bit depressed.  Thought if I can't write the truth of why I feel down, why bother?  But of course it's not just about me and although I thought, seriously thought, about writing the truth of everything, I decided silence...no, I didn't decide, I just apathetically didn't write.

Which was wise for if I do feel the need to spill I can physically write it out in longhand where it remains private.  Marriage or any intimate relationship, is about trust and respect and sometimes keeping secrets.  That's more important than keeping up some random blog.

A friend offered to come and stay here for a couple of days while I go to a yoga retreat or something similar for some 'me time'.  I don't even know what that means.  My entire life is 'me time'.  Sure, there are compromises and company and chores but basically I am leading the life I've chosen.  Then I think, hmmm, what about a couple of days on my own in a hotel on the beach.  No chores, no company, no schedules just the sea and the beach, a notebook to write in, a sketchbook to not draw in and a good book to read.  That would be bliss.

Just looked at a few yoga retreat advertisements.  One of them is across the street!  Another is up Bonnydoon.  Neither of which I would go to.  Actually the idea of a yoga retreat is already too regimented.  Just looked at some beachfront accommodationin Byron, $444 per night.  Can't really justify that amount of money. 

Now I'm just wasting time looking at places to rent in Byron.  Best go do some yoga now as I've seized up after sitting so long.  Sheesh.