Let Sleeping Cats ...

Two little black heads nestled on the bed.  Bodies curled into mine seeking comfort and security.  One old and deaf now and reaching the end.  She sleeps so long and so deeply these days that we frequently find ourselves giving her a prod when we pass her by, just to make sure that she's still breathing.  Ever fearful of the time when she's not.

The other little head is still a baby.  Still finds life interesting, exciting and terrifying in equal measure.  He starts and bounds and races.  Not for him the staid dignity of the measured walk.  He's all dash and vigour, flicking ears and twitching tail.  And Mummy's comforting smell and touch.  He comes to me and snuggles and snuffles and pads in my hair and curls up on my shoulder to sleep deep and long.  Then suddenly awakens and shoots off in pursuit of who-knows-what.  He sleeps with abandon.  Body out-stretched.  Belly exposed.  His four legs minute and hour hands telling the time at 6 o'clock.  He must feel so safe, so secure here, to sleep so soundly in such an exposed attitude.  What dreams does he dream as his little heart beats?  The rare, deformed valve known only to those who love him or wish to study him.  Unknown by him as he goes about his little life well fed, well loved, well cared for.  Unaware that in all his perfection, this one tiny piece, this collection of little cells that, by some unhappy happenstance, failed to find perfection, whilst in the safest place of all, his mother's womb, could cut that thread and end his bouncing and prancing in the blink of an eye.  How fragile it all is.  And him so unaware as he sleeps so soundly, curled up where he feels so safe.

Ah ha! The Penny Drops

I've just had quick lessons in the advisability of thinking through decisions to their logical conclusions and understanding how something works before using it.

Whilst trying to 'get my profile out there', as advised by many of the successful writers at one of the groups I attend, I have, amongst other things, logged onto LinkedIn.  The ability and willingness of new writers to self-promote is, apparently, favourably regarded by the publishing world - it can bring along with a writer a ready-made audience, thereby reducing the company's risk on a completely unknown voice.

I think I have mentioned previously my techno-twit tendencies when it comes to all things www and computer-based.

Yesterday I received a phonecall from someone, who shall remain anonymous, making assumptions about what went on in my life.  I was, until this morning, confused as to how they came by the information.

These three sets of facts are LinkedIn.  

The caller knew someone who had viewed, in a third party capacity, my profile on aforementioned website (I had noted that a particular person had paid me a visit, but didn't mentally follow through the consequences at their end).  Now, I'm not saying that anything on my profile was an untruth - absolutely not.  However, like any CV, you need to, let's say, skew a profile in order to aim it at your intended target.  If I'm applying for a secretarial job, I'll highlight my secretarial skills;  if I'm heading down the receptionist route, I'll bring those experiences to the fore.  None of these ploys, if honestly engaged, cause inaccuracies, untruths, or for the reader to be misled. They simply change the direction of the beam from my angle-poise lamp.  We are all our own PR agents these days.  In this particular case, I am trying to highlight my writing credentials.  I want my writing to be the bit that people see, not for them to focus on the other stuff that I do in order to shore up my life to enable me to write.

Now, this information could be seen, if read in a particular way (ie, without the entirety of the brain engaged, or by someone looking for justification of an erroneous belief), to imply that I do a limited amount of salaried work and spend the rest of my time in my garret creating.  Ah, if only that were possible.  Proof, I suppose, that 2 + 2 doesn't always = 4.  It can = 6 if you look carefully enough for the extra 2 standing in the shadows.  Unfortunately, one cannot impose conditions on how people read the information in front of them.  You have to have a certain amount of faith that the people who read internet profiles are aware of how these things work.

So my attempt at self-promotion was sent slightly off-course by one mistake, thereby causing the scenario described above.  I hit a return key when I should have hit the 'skip' button and sent an invitation to everyone I have ever emailed in the entire history of my internet life to become one of my connections instead of the chosen few, which was what I had originally intended.  This included Argos, Sainsbury's, a couple of job websites, the OU, some guy who came to fix my daughter's laptop about 18 months ago and people from my past who I probably wouldn't have included (for various reasons, some of which may have something to do with the wrong people being able to get hold of pieces of information that could be taken out of context).  I thought it might cause problems as soon as I'd realised what I'd done, but wasn't au fait enough with the website to understand how to correct the mistake until far too late and invitations had been accepted.  Certain connections have now been severed, not necessarily because of the connectee (not a word, but what the hell, it's been an irritating 24 hours), but because of the third party connection.  I didn't think through the consequences of my actions.

Now the question is, do I put the fourth party straight, thereby possibly giving away even more information that really isn't any of their business, or do I refuse to engage any further and let them get on with believing whatever they want, erroneous or otherwise?  Answers on a postcard, please.

So Now What?

I keep wandering from room to room, thinking I've forgotten something;  I can't make plans because I can't remember the thing that I am sure I'm supposed to be doing, but, temporarily can't bring to mind.  I feel as though I have wandered into some kind of limbo.  Is this how all students feel at the end of the academic year?

I don't recall this feeling of lack of direction from my childhood, but maybe that's because, as a child - or young adult - you view life differently.  Maybe it has something to do with the necessity, as an adult, of having structure in order to function day-to-day. As a lone parent - even if my children are 18 and one of them no longer lives at home full time - I have to make sure that during the course of a day, the cats are fed regularly, I've ascertained how many people I'm feeding for breakfast, lunch and dinner and provided those meals (including removing from the freezer at the appropriate time any ingredients that need de-frosting), any crucial clothing has been washed/ironed, bills have been paid, phonecalls have been made, any running repairs (to cats, children, house, car or even me) have been attended to, the necessary amount of household chores have been done, oh and that I've turned up at work for five hours.  Since September, I've also had to factor in study and writing time and had deadlines to meet for assignments.  If my life hadn't been structured, it simply wouldn't have worked.

I'm not saying for one moment that I'm an exception.  I suspect that the vast majority of adults - especially parents - have a similar setup in place.  What it demonstrates, though, is what happens when you take away part of the edifice you build to contain the different areas of your life.  Its a little like someone has dropped an incendiary device.

The other strange thing I've now noticed, is that writing, in my mind, was an acceptable thing to be doing when it was for studying purposes.  I was allowed to write.  I was supposed to write.  Making the time to sit at my laptop, or read a book during daylight hours was okay.  Now I'm not being assessed or examined, I keep thinking there are other, more important, things I ought to be doing.  Taking time to read or write is simply being lazy.  How am I ever going to be a writer, when I view the writing process as lollygagging?

I think I need to take myself to one side and have a stern word in my ear.  Whose standards am I applying to my way of life, mine or society's?  And for 'society's' you can probably read 'my parents''.  This was demonstrated earlier this week when my father asked me,

'So, when are you going to start earning some money at this writing lark?'

I did try explaining that very few writers are J K Rowlings or Wilbur Smiths and most of us will have to have at least a part-time job in order to make ends meet.  And, surely, life isn't always about what you gain materially from something.  Aren't we allowed to do the thing we love at every available opportunity without feeling guilty?  Guilt, of course, always being about applying someone else's behavioural rules to your own way of life and coming up short.

So, bugger washing the kitchen floor, or doing the ironing, I'm going to go and read my book in the garden.