Hooray!

With a little bit of scrabbling, Bear got onto my bed this morning and he managed to scramble up a fence.  He also asked for his breakfast, bopped Gus on the nose and ambushed Gizzy when she came out of the cat flap.  By jingo I think he's getting better!  Hoorah!  Still need to find out what caused it all, but I think I can stow the dilemma in a box, padlock it and bury it in the back of a dark cupboard somewhere!

I know a certain cat who gets a whole fish for supper tonight!

Blog can now return to normal writing-related ramblings ... I'm sure you'll all be mightily relieved!  Especially those of you who are feline-averse.

An Ethical Dilemma

I’ve been in the throws of an ethical dilemma this week.  I outlined in an earlier post Edward Bear’s latest medical conundrum.  This puzzle continues, darker hued with each passing day.  My little feline free-runner, aka Squirrel Ninja because of his extremely fluffy tail and wall-bouncing abilities, remains on the ‘concerned’ list.  X-rays and blood tests are all OK, but wobbling has been evident in the back legs while walking, he’s off his food, sleeping in dark corners all the time and a couple of days ago when he tried to run, he fell flat on his face.  Second and third opinions have now been sought by the vet, Romeo (yes, that really is his name).

There are three possibilities being bandied around.  The first is that it’s a virus.  Not a likely scenario, but straws are being clutched now and it is the one I’m clinging to.  The other options are something neurological, or evidence of a deterioration of his heart problem.  Neither of these latter theories can possibly be good as long-term prognoses.  The heart specialist who diagnosed Bear’s faulty valves is being consulted and a possibility of further scans looms large.  In the meantime, it has been advised that Bear should be kept quiet and indoors.

Edward Bear is a 2-year old cat with a curious nature.  He sniffs and digs and tunnels and investigates.  He rarely walks, he bounds, dashes and bounces.  He is mischievous – he lays in wait for Gus and Gizzy when he knows they are coming and jumps out at them on his back legs, as if he’s doing star jumps.  He sits next to Gus and bops him on the nose to get him to play.  He sits on Gizzy’s face when she’s asleep and then bounces around in front of her when she wakes up hissing – she is 19-years old, deaf, riddled with arthritis, has lungs like bellows so snores even when she’s awake and is missing a back leg.  In short, he lives life to the full. 

My dilemma is this:  as it is unsafe for him to be outside – he can’t escape from cars, other cats, dogs, foxes, or anything else that might harm him because he can neither run nor jump – he could be facing the rest of his life indoors, looking out at the world from behind panes of glass.  Would it be kinder to put him to sleep even if he isn’t in pain?  His life would come down to sitting and sleeping all within four walls with occasional forays into the garden if I’m at home and outside.  Would I be keeping him alive for his sake or mine?  Is life at any cost the aim?  It’s not as if he can take up other hobbies to keep him occupied for however long his heart keeps going.  A parallel can’t be drawn between people whose mobility is reduced and a cat.  My Dad with reduced mobility because of Parkinson’s and my Mum with a dodgy knee have other things they can do – things that occupy their minds – and aids to allow them to get around and live as normal a life as possible. 

Cats may have been domesticated, but they are still creatures that, I believe, need the freedom to roam in order to have a happy life.  I may not know what goes on in Bear’s head, but I can see when he’s happy.  He is a sentient creature.  He isn’t a possession.  I don’t own him.  We co-exist within the same space in a symbiotic relationship.  And I love him.  Putting him to sleep would rip my guts out.  But would I be demonstrating that love by keeping him alive at all costs, or simply being selfish?

La Ronde

We've been playing story tag in the on-line writing workshop I joined through the OU.  Thought you might like to see the first two stories in the sequence.  The idea is one person writes a piece, then next person takes a character from that piece and writes their own story.  The third person takes a character from story two and writes a new story, etc.  You get the picture.  The last story is supposed to bring the whole back to the beginning.

Sisters   - Ron Woods

Sandra opened the door to the visitors’ day room and was surprised to see her younger sister already there. Tina was standing with her back to the door leaning on the sill of the open window but Sandra immediately recognised her faded multicoloured jacket and unmistakable shaggy blonde hair. She also noticed her flick something out the window and flap her hands before turning around with a guilty expression to face her.

     ‘Oh it’s just you,’ said Tina when she saw who had come in to the room. ‘I thought it was that bloody nurse again.’

     Sandra wasn’t sure if the look of disappointment was meant for her or the unsmoked portion whatever it was her sister had just flicked away.

     ‘The nurse told me to wait in here,’ said Sandra. ‘They’ve taken mummy down for a scan.’

     ‘I know,’ said Tina rooting in the pocket of her grubby jeans, ‘I’ve been on my own here all afternoon. I was with her when they took her down.’

     ‘I came as quickly as I could.’ Sandra’s cheeks were flushed. ‘I had to get Gerry to come home from work to mind the girls, and then I had to go to mummy’s to collect her things.’

     The day room was quite small with too many chairs but against one wall was a small comfortable looking sofa. Sandra put her large handbag and the two carrier-bags with nightdresses and cardigans for her mother at one end and dropped herself onto the other end. She immediately regretted it as she sank into the cushion and the waistband of her skirt dug into the folds of her stomach. She wriggled in the seat to make herself as comfortable as possible. Tina leaning back with her elbows on the windowsill watched her discomfort.

     ‘Does Margaret know yet?’ she asked.

     ‘I’m not sure,’ said Sandra. ‘I’ve tried her mobile but it keeps going to voicemail and I didn’t want to leave a message like that on her phone. She’s probably in one of her meetings.’

     Tina wasn’t looking at her and didn’t seem to care about her answer. She was looking instead at the toe of her sandal as she rubbed it in circles on the pink floor tiles. Sandra thought she was too thin and her clothes looked worn out.

     ‘Are you still living with those people on the farm?’ she asked her.

     ‘Yeah, but we might move on at the end of the summer, I’m not sure, maybe.’

      ‘Have you no washing machine out there?’ she asked and immediately regretted how her question must have sounded. ‘I only meant...I worry about you...you know?’

     Tina lifted her head to look at her. ‘Your blouse is buttoned up wrong,’ she said, then turned to look out of the window again.

     ‘Oh Christ! Not again,’ said Sandra shuffling forward to sit upright on the edge of the sofa to redo her buttons. Her blouse was almost completely undone exposing the white rolled flesh of her stomach and a bra that used to be white when the door swung open wide and Margaret entered the room with her phone pressed to her ear. She was wearing a tailored grey trouser suit and her shoulder length hair was pulled back behind her ears and held in place by a pair of sunglasses perched on her head. As she turned to shut the door behind her the sunlight from the window flashed off the DG logo on the side of her glasses and the room filled with the scent of Chanel something-or-other. It was always Chanel.

     She was still talking on the phone. ‘I see...yes...but can’t you hurry it up?’ As she spoke she looked at her sisters, raising a quizzical eyebrow at Sandra’s naked belly. Her half-smile to Tina wasn’t quick enough to hide her initial look of disapproval.

     ‘I understand,’ she was saying into the phone, ‘but I’ll need to know as soon as possible. I have to make a decision. Ring me as soon you know.’ She flipped her phone shut and slipped it into her pocket.

     ‘That was mummy’s consultant,’ she said. ‘We may have to sell her house.’

Tina - Danielle Posner Sykes

‘I want you out by the end of the week.’

            Tina was dragged into the hazy light of the morning by this demand, spat into her ear by Jonathan.  It was laced with a venom that took her breath away.  How had things got so bad so fast?  She turned over and looked at her boyfriend of six years.  He was sitting up in bed, his spine rigid, arms barricaded across his chest, face cold and resolute.  She sighed and rubbed her eyes, wishing she could at least have had a cup of tea before being thrust back into the argument that had begun the previous evening over whose turn it was to do the washing up.  It was pathetic.  Not only that Jonathan should have felt it necessary to turn a simple task, easily accomplished in minutes, into a major diplomatic incident, but that he should have insisted it was played out in front of the rest of the farmhouse residents and used it as a means to end their relationship.  Her sisters had always said he was a bully and a coward.  She had defended him until the phrase “the lady doth protest too much, methinks” began to echo in her head.  Actually, it had been Sandra who had called him a bully and a coward.  Margaret had dismissed him as a sponging waste of space.  They were both right. 

            ‘Good morning to you, too, Jonathan,’ Tina muttered.

            ‘I can’t be doing with this any more.  You’re lazy and self-centred and how dare you show me up in front of my friends.  My friends, not yours.  I’ve carried you long enough.  You can sleep on the couch until you’ve found somewhere else to go.  No-one wants you here a minute longer than necessary.’

            Tina fought back the tears that started to well up and controlled the downward twitch at the corners of her mouth.  In complete silence, she got out of bed and picked her away over Jonathan’s dirty clothes, which were scattered liberally over the bedroom’s threadbare carpet, to the rickety chest of drawers.  Rays from a chilly winter sun broke in through the gap in the paper-thin curtains tacked to a chunk of wood over the window.  Tina pulled on a pair of jeans that were due for a wash and a sweatshirt before starting to remove her neatly folded and hung clothing from the drawers and wardrobe, packing them into the suitcase and sportsbag she had brought with her eighteen months before.

            ‘And you can leave my grey sweater,’ came the instruction from the bed. 

            Tina turned to look at Jonathan’s impassive face.  His unblinking, steely grey eyes stared back at her.

            ‘You gave me that jumper.’

            ‘No I didn’t.  You borrowed it and never gave it back.’

            ‘Oh, whatever, Jonathan.  Why would I want a reminder of you?’  She took the sweater out of her bag and then stopped.  A look passed over her face.  She straightened her shoulders and turned back to look at him.  ‘Do you know what, I’m tired of this.  I’m tired of you and your sniping.  I’m tired of dirty carpets, non-existent plumbing, freezing cold rooms, lentils for dinner every night, listening to Greg and Mandy swinging from the lightshade –‘

            ‘Well fuck off then, you miserable, middle-class bitch!’  Tina’s eyes widened and her head jerked backwards as if hit from a physical blow.  ‘Go on!  Fuck off back to your Mummy and those tight-arsed, toffee-nosed bitch sisters of yours with their designer clothes and convertible cars and jobs in the City.’

            For a moment Tina was too stunned to speak.  Then, unable to bear the sound of thudding in her ears, she asked,

‘Did the last six years mean nothing to you?  Did I ever mean anything?’

            Jonathan’s eyes narrowed and the corners of his mouth turned upwards in a sham of a smile. 

            ‘Yeah, you meant an adequate fuck when I was horny and someone to roll a spliff when I was too stoned to do it myself.’

            Tina blinked, too shocked even to cry. 

            ‘You bastard,’ she thought.  ‘I wasted six years of my life on you.  Well, I won’t give you the satisfaction of seeing me cry.  I won’t.’

            She turned back to her bags, finished packing her things and, without a backward glance, walked out, quietly closing the door behind her.  She went into the bathroom to wash her face in freezing cold water, brush her teeth and pack her toiletries and then left the house by the back door.

            It wasn’t until she was in her battered old Renault and sitting at the end of the driveway that she pulled on the handbrake and started to shake.  She retrieved a pack of cigarettes from her bag and eventually managed to light one, dragging the smoke deep into her lungs.  She told herself it was smoke in her eyes causing the tears to cascade down her face, nothing to do with the pain in her chest, the lump in her throat or the concrete in her stomach.  She refused to shed one tear over Jonathan.  Absolutely refused.

            ‘Shit.  Margaret,’ she muttered, a picture of her judgemental eldest sister’s gloating face coming to mind.  As she was contemplating how to tell her family that she was now homeless, her phone rang. 

            ‘Tina?  It’s me.’  Her sister, Sandra, sounded more flustered than normal. 

            ‘Hi, Sandra.  What’s up?’

            ‘It’s Mummy.  She’s had some sort of fall or something.  I couldn’t get much sense out of her.  I called an ambulance.  Where are you?  I’ll meet you at the hospital.’

            ‘Yeah, okay.  Is she alright?  I mean … is it a heart attack, or –‘

            ‘I don’t know.  I don’t know what happened.  Just can you go –‘

            ‘Yes, yes, of course.  I’ll see you there.’

            The drive to the hospital and the hours waiting whilst staff came and went with no answers to her questions, only quick flickers of their eyes up and down, as they took in her somewhat crumpled look, blurred together. 

At some point in the afternoon Sandra arrived, all awry and puffing and asking inane questions and Tina could barely keep focused on her mother’s plight as the events of that morning swirled round and round in her head.  How to tell; whom to tell; when to tell; if she should tell.  Maybe she could live at her mother’s while she sorted herself out.

            Then Margaret burst in and announced,

            ‘That was Mummy’s consultant.  We may have to sell her house,’ and all Tina could think was,

            ‘Shit!’

Oh My Goodness!

I'm so chuffed I'm fit to burst ...

My humble little blog has just had a mention on West Herts Drivetime with Danny Smith on Verulam Radio.  One of the VWC writers - a seriously lovely chap called Mark Clementson - has a regular spot.  He mentioned that Scrivener's Progress was 'worth a read'.  Yaay!

The strange light hovering in the sky somewhere over west Hemel Hempstead is my grin.

I Have Pondered

It was pointed out to me last night at our meeting of the VWC, that my last post was a touch flimsy in content and unresolved in conclusion.  'Tis true, but then I was feeling flimsy and unresolved.  I did, indeed, need a ponder.

I believe my reticence over the new job, especially after my plea last week, was down to shock and disorientation.  Let me explain.  I found a message on my mobile last Thursday evening wanting to know why I hadn't responded to an email asking me for interview on the 19th.  I was requested to call back the lady concerned and let her know 'really quite urgently' if I was still interested in being considered for the post.  I was baffled.  To my knowledge I had received no such email.  I duly checked my email account and the NHS job website, but could find neither an email nor even a job at the particular hospital mentioned in the phone call.  Curiouser and curiouser.  I eventually tracked down one particular job description bearing the name of the woman who had left the message on my mobile, but the job was located in St Albans, not Harpenden.  At a loss, I resolved to call this lady in the morning to find out what the devil was going on.

On Friday morning I called and left a message explaining that I had received no email and therefore didn't really know which job she was referring to, but that if I had applied, then I was still interested in the position.  I waited for her to call me back.  I waited all day (except during Harry Potter, which I saw with Natasha as a birthday treat and was not being disturbed for any reason at all!).  No response.

I started to wonder if I hadn't received an email because I hadn't actually been shortlisted for the position and the phonecall had been a mistake.  She was avoiding ringing me back.

Saturday and Sunday, obviously I wasn't going to hear from anyone.

Monday morning arrived and I tried the lady's number again to see if I could get to the bottom of this mystery.  Once again, the phone rang out and went through to voicemail.  I left another message, pretty much on the same lines as the one I left on Friday and decided that this interview obviously wasn't supposed to be and this job, whatever it was, was not meant to be mine.  As I was coming to the end of my message, resignation in my heart, rather than in a letter to the boss, which would have been preferable, I could hear a beeping on my phone.  I looked and saw that the lady was calling me back.

'Aha!' I thought. 'Finally, I will get some answers.'

After a cursory apology for the errant email, the lady, let's finally call her Teresa, for that was her name, asked if I wanted to come for interview the following day.  9 o'clock was finally settled on.  It transpired that the interview was being held in Harpenden, but the job was in St Albans.  Things were starting to make sense.

I finished my shift, went home to discover that one of my cats, Edward Bear, he of the medically anomalous faulty heart valves, had lost all power in his back legs and was now unable to jump up onto the couch, or even climb the stairs properly, but could still walk normally, stretch up on his hind legs, wasn't in any pain and was eating as usual.  I despaired of anything in my life ever being straightforward and run-of-the-mill.  I reasoned that he had fallen down the stairs on Sunday evening, so maybe he was simply bruised and I'd keep an eye on him for 24 hrs.  I ironed interview clothes for the following day, made and ate a quick dinner, then went back to work to do an evening shift, returning home just before 9 o'clock.

I was woken up at 6 o'clock by Edward Bear trying to jump up onto my bed, but only managing to grab on to the covers and look confused.  This wasn't looking good.  Once on the bed, he pranced around as if nothing was wrong, turned a couple of circles and then settled himself and went to sleep.

The interview went well.  I was neither nervous nor prepared - even forgetting to take the paperwork necessary for almost any job these days - 6 documents to prove you are who you say you are.  They'll be taking fingerprints, DNA swabs and a retinal ID before long just to stack shelves in Asda.  I was only vaguely concerned by one thing:  Teresa's first comment about the job was,

'I won't lie to you, parking is a serious problem.  There aren't enough parking spaces and we don't know if the  hospital management are going to do anything about it.  They've been kicking around an idea of parking space sharing, but nothing's come of it as yet.  And all the streets in St Albans are permit holder only.  So, as I said, it's a problem.'

'Oh, goody,' I thought.  'Well, I might not get the job, in which case it may be a problem, but it won't be my problem.  Maybe I won't apply for any more jobs based in St Albans Hospital.'

I went from interview to work, where I had differing reactions from those in the know about my whereabouts that morning.  There was a sufficient amount of regret expressed at the possibility of my leaving for me to feel gratified.  I returned home to await the phonecall that had been promised with the outcome of the eight interviews that had been conducted.  I'm never sure if going first is a good or a bad thing.  You either set the bar high enough that everyone else has to match up, or you've been lost in the crowd by the time they get to the eighth candidate.  I'd also partly dismissed the job as a non-starter because of the parking problem, which was obviously so severe it warranted a mention before anything else was even discussed.

The phone rang as I dropped my handbag on the table.  It was Liz, the other interviewer.

'I'm just ringing to let you know the good news ...'

I was genuinely shocked.  I'd hardly had a moment to even consider this job, its implications, or its impacts.  The only thing that I could think was,

'But where am I going to park?  How am I supposed to get to work?'

Most problems are surmountable.  Now I've had 36 hours to let it all sink in and start doing something constructive, I've found an advert for a parking space two streets away from the hospital.  Someone is renting out their driveway for £14.50 a week.  I'm going to contact them and find out if I can block book their driveway for the foreseeable future.  And I also get a 20 minute or so walk every day, thereby dealing with my lack of exercise.  Two birds felled with one stone.

Edward Bear continues to be a medical aberration.  After a trip to the vet last night, they can find no reason for his leg problem, so I had to take him back in this morning for a day of x-rays and blood tests.  Thank the Lord for Pet Plan.  The bill is close to £600.  My excess is £85.  If he carries on this way, I'll need a second job just to pay his vet's bills.

And let's not even talk about his yearly jabs, his gingivitis, Gus's jabs, the car tax, my car service and MOT ...
oh and Joanna's back from South Africa on Monday (where did that month go?), so the food bill will rocket from next week.

Head down.  Soldier on ...

Hmm ... interesting

I've got a new job.  I should be jumping for joy, but I'm not.  Interesting.  I asked for a new job.  I received a new job.  How ungrateful not to be thrilled and thankful.  What's this all about?

I think I need a ponder.

What a Gift

I have a sudden and unexpected day off.  The possibilities yawn away in front of me.  All the things I could do.  All the things I should do.  The question is, will I do any of them?

The day has come courtesy of my parents and Thomson.  They flew back from their holiday in Cyprus last night.  They were originally meant to land at 6pm.  This was delayed to 10 o'clock, which was then put back to 11.35, then 2.06.  My brother was supposed to be collecting them from the airport, but as the delay started to approach the early hours and he had a meeting he needed to attend at 9 o'clock this morning, I offered to take the day off and do the airport run.  It doesn't take much excuse these days for me to take a day off from work.  So there I was at 1.30 this morning, setting off for Luton, having had a few hours sleep on top of a lovely chicken curry made by my daughter and consumed at about 8 o'clock, which gave me chronic heartburn.

I actually find trips to the airport in the wee small hours exciting.  Being awake and heading out while the world around you sleeps.  Arriving at a building blazing with lights and bustling with people.  Sitting in Costa Coffee watching travellers spew out of the sliding doors.  Wondering where they've come from and where they're going.  Its a mixture of subversiveness and being cocooned - a secret life going on underneath the radar.  The feeling it evokes for me is akin to two things:  the first is sitting at my desk at school writing behind a barricade of books so no-one could see what I was doing;  the second sitting in a tent on a campsite, with the tent entrance zipped up.

I'm sure a psychologist would have a field day with that one!

The question that still remains, though, is will I do something constructive today, or will the endless possibilities  so confound me that I end up doing nothing at all?

Ups, Downs and Seeing the Signs

I've been pondering what to write in this post.  Work-wise this week has surpassed itself in its gobsmacking unreality.  Someone I work with is a badly-drawn caricature.  I try to find the good in all people and situations, but this person is just beyond redemption.  And that they can get away with the sort of behaviour on display in the past few days and not be brought up before more tribunals than the Courts in the UK and Europe could shake a stick at just leaves me speechless.  There is more spite and venom contained in that small body than the most poisonous snake.  Nasty, nasty, nasty.  I felt sullied just breathing the same air.  I had been wondering about my decision to look for pastures new.  This week has confirmed for me in no uncertain terms that the escape tunnel is not being decommissioned.  For the love of God, let me find a new job.  The sign has been made neon.  I get it.  I'm going.

However, on a writing note, what a fab week!  I read one of my stories at this week's meeting of the VWC.  A short story entitled 'The Appointment'.  It takes place in a doctors' surgery, the main protagonists being a receptionist and someone who comes in for, appropriately and unsurprisingly enough, an appointment.  I can't think where I get my ideas.  I liked it, secretly thought it wasn't too shoddy and hoped it would pass muster.  Despite a somewhat constricted delivery (the terror of reading aloud to a bunch of very good writers leaves me with a complete inability to draw any air at all into my lungs), I'm thrilled to report that people laughed in the right places and I got some lovely comments.  To misquote Sally Field, 'They liked it!  They really liked it!'.  I can't tell you the pride and joy that filled my not inconsiderable breastal area.

My self belief was further boosted the following evening at the launch party for VWC's anthology 'The Archangel and the White Hart' (currently in stock at Waterstone's in St Albans and a jolly good read).  One of the Circle members happened to mention that he'd been reading my blog and thought it was really good!  I was thrilled on many levels - one being that I now have proof I'm not just nattering to myself (which was what I suspected, but didn't like to peer at too closely) and there are indeed people out there reading this, but also that they liked it!  Dave, bless your cotton socks, you made my evening!

My name is Danielle and I am a writer.  And I'm not bad!  Hurrah!

Where Does All The Time Go?

It's been a while - crikey, didn't think it had been that long.  Since I wrote on here, that is.

I've come to an odd hiatus.  I've had this urge to be still.  I've got jobs and things-I-need-to-be-doing piling up for a couple of weeks now, but can't quite bring myself to start doing them.  I kept saying 'I'll wait till I'm back from Cumbria'.  I've been back for just over a week.  The pile of things only started getting sorted this morning.  That includes having my landline fixed.  It's not been working since Tuesday.  I didn't phone the telephone company to report the fault until about 4pm yesterday (Friday) afternoon.  The fact that their systems were down and they couldn't log my repair request, so asked me to call them back, leads me to think that I'm not meant to be in touch with the world at large for the time being.  And that's to do with my urge to be still and quiet.

I used to have a really strong and active faith.  Not the labelled, congregationed, minister-led type - no-one's telling me what to think, how to behave, or what to believe - but the soul-searching, truth-finding, universe-connecting sort with the congregation of one - me.  I would remember to be mindful and aware and watchful. I would strive to find the silver lining in all situations and thank the universe, my angels and spirit guides for the lessons they were sending me to help me to grow and find my highest potential.  I adhered to the belief in the inter-connectedness of all things.

Somewhere along the line, I've become jaded.  Not a disbeliever.  Not that.  Just warier.  If I close my eyes and picture myself in this context, I see a still figure in the shadows, watching with cautious eyes.  Waiting.

I've felt like this before.  Being still goes against the grain.  It goes against what is socially acceptable.  One needs to be seen to be doing.  We, as a species, have lost the art and forgotten the value of simply being.  To validate my place on this planet, I feel I need to be judged as being a useful contributor.  I learned meditation to counteract this.  I learned to be still.  I learned to listen - to myself, to others and to the universe.  How else does one hear the messages being sent by our unconscious minds?  Or our angels (if one believes in such things).  Or the universe.  I've not meditated for quite a while.  I've not meditated with conviction for a long time before that.  It's one of the reasons I stopped running my meditation group.  I felt like a fraud.  I didn't practice what I preached.

Since the end of my OU year, I've felt this need for stillness.  I feel as though I'm spreading myself too thin and short-changing everyone with whom I come into contact.  I have my writing groups - one on-line, one on a Wednesday night, a new one being set up by a friend - I resigned from my Monday night group because I just wasn't showing up.  I'm looking for a new job and have had a couple of interviews.  The general consensus when I haven't got the jobs being 'You're lovely.  You interview really well.  We really liked you, but we've gone in-house/taken someone whose got more direct experience.'  I have my proof-reading course which is waiting to be started.  I have this pile of stuff to tackle; friends I haven't contacted, but should; a zumba class I started but have stopped.  I want to write - I have the little flame that is burning away, but ... not yet.  Not now.  Now I just want to sit.  Somewhere quiet.  Somewhere uninterrupted.  Somewhere unpeopled.

If the things I'm doing are not producing the required results, then maybe I should just surrender to the flow and accept that for today, or this week, or this month, or however long this takes, I just need to be still - do the minimum, the necessary, but stop and be.  I've asked for so many things recently.  I need to listen for some answers.  I won't find them rushing around making noise.