Dear Readers, How are we? It’s August (already, etc) and there’s a small shift in the season. The dew lies longer on the grass and cold cars in the morning and our neighbour Pat put on a jacket when she took the dogs out earlier. The sky is grey where I am, on a train rolling through Pevensey and Westham. I’m heading up to London, and I am very tired. I feel disconnected from the words as I write them – this is my fourth or fifth attempt at this sentence. I am tired from doing too much and resting too little. I’ve been well, but then on mornings like this with that drag of lost sleep and a cat pissing where they shouldn’t have pissed and where is my phone charger and if only I’d woken up earlier I’d have time for all this and now I’m cranky and grumpy and moany and sad because all of this could have been avoided and here I am again.
22. On sorrow
22. On sorrow
22. On sorrow
Dear Readers, How are we? It’s August (already, etc) and there’s a small shift in the season. The dew lies longer on the grass and cold cars in the morning and our neighbour Pat put on a jacket when she took the dogs out earlier. The sky is grey where I am, on a train rolling through Pevensey and Westham. I’m heading up to London, and I am very tired. I feel disconnected from the words as I write them – this is my fourth or fifth attempt at this sentence. I am tired from doing too much and resting too little. I’ve been well, but then on mornings like this with that drag of lost sleep and a cat pissing where they shouldn’t have pissed and where is my phone charger and if only I’d woken up earlier I’d have time for all this and now I’m cranky and grumpy and moany and sad because all of this could have been avoided and here I am again.