From here to there and back again

Day 76

Another new day after another old, sleep deprived night. Took nightnurse and everything but still couldn't sleep. I dunno. My New Life isn't taking off with quite the speed, vigour and enthusiasm that I had hoped. Still feel wrecked all the time, and have little energy to do anything but just push through. What do I have to shift to make some change occur here?

Steve has been contacted about a contract job that is within walking distance of our house. The pay is on the limp side, to say the least, but with no travelling costs it evens out a bit. Am very excited - I have a good feeling about this one. Hope he gets an interview. Hope he gets the job. Hope he's happy in it if he does. Lots of hope, basically.

Am trying to decide between gardening and ironing, as a way to wear myself out a bit so that I sleep better. I like gardening, especially pruning which suits my artistic eye and OCD tendencies, but it is wet and cold, and I don't cope well with the cold when I am tired. Ironing is warm and dry and I can do it in front of the telly, but it is IRONING! Urrrrrgh! Hurts my feet terribly and gives me backache as well as turning my brain into cauliflower. What to choose?

Suddenly, I am prompted to stop.

I think I have to move away from al these verbs if I want to promote advancement into My New Life. I spend my time doing, doing, doing. This is a bit of a novelty in itself, and therefore is pulling my focus. After all these years of incapacity with the Chronic Fatigue, it is encouraging to be able to push through and achieve things, to cross them off my endless lists, to be able to do something just because I said I would.

I know deep down in the bright and wise places within me, that it is not about what I do, but how I do it, what state of mind I inhabit, and what goal I am aiming for, that counts. If my life is to change it starts from the inside. So I will pause awhile here.

What to choose?

I hear the answer from a clearer place.

"It does not matter. Get dressed and tell your body it is beautiful, affirm who you are, and be grateful for all that you have and all that is being called forth for you. Breathe gently and deeply. Inhale the fresh new seconds of this gift of a day. Find an empty space of pure, crystal clear silence within and ask for direction. Pull love into your being so that whatever you do becomes a meditation. Give thanks, be happy, do as your heart decides."

And so a line from a favourite poem - ' I will arise and go now'.

It's all too much today

Day 73

I can't write today - I find I can't do anything today. I am wracked with an all-encompassing sense of inability and inertia. The more I push against it, the more invasive it seems to become.

I had a very bad night, with nightmares so real and scary that I almost woke Steve to go to the loo with me, and I am not an easily frightenend person. Steve says he woke in the night too and got very worried because he thought I wasn't breathing, so perhaps I was holding my breath in my sleep from plain terror.

The upshot is that I have no energy, no aptitude, and no enthusiasm for anything today. I hate days like this. I feel useless and lazy and just plain wrong. My feet are killing me. I have no energy to feed myself well and am eating over-sugared rubbish, which doesn't help. How many baths can one usefully have in one day if one is not a Golgafringen?

In My New Life I wanted to do away with days like these. Perhaps I have strayed too far off track - I am not spending any time with visualisation or meditation at the moment, having been caught up in practicalities. Maybe feeling like this is my wake-up call.

I think, to some extent, I saw things beginning when Steve went back to work and I was left to sort out my days alone. That's what I had mentally prepared myself for - having to do it unaided. I have been putting things on hold, I now realise.

Another resolution then - to take a more holistic approach, to focus on the spiritual and mental as well as the physical and practical. It is not just what I do, but how I do it, what space I am coming from, and what vision I am creating, that will start to determine My New Life.

But I have to say, I could really do with a good night's sleep.

And it seems I can write, it just happens to be rubbish!

Being a Domestic God-help-us

Day 71

Having spent a couple of days where everything I made was rubbish and the more I tried to fix it the worse it got, I have now spent a day doing the same with my cooking. There are obviously some weeks when I should not attempt anything more complicated than de-fluffing my navel.

Allow me to elucidate. My book group is meeting tonight and it's my turn to host it. Being in an impecunious space right now, it made sense to use up what was already in the house rather than go out and buy nibbles and goodies. A while back Steve got a yen to try making biscuits and bought lots of stuff for it, much of which is still there. Aha! I thought - I'll make cookies for my group, how hard can it be?

The answer, apparently is, harder than I thought. I'm sure some people are blessed with a deft and delicate touch when it comes to all things of a pastry or confectionery nature, but I am clearly not one of them. My first batch of biscuits (choc chip and walnut, yum yum) spread all over the place, burning at the edges while still liquid in the middle, looking like steam-rollered jellyfish with a bad bottle tan.

My second batch (lemon Shrewsbury biscuits) were even worse - insipid and oddly shaped, far too sweet, and somehow divorced from any lemon flavour. Decided on icing as a way to perk them up a bit. The book we are discussing was Hilary Mantel's 'Beyond black', which is all about a clairvoyant, and I thought I could call them Ectoplasm cookies. The icing sugar Steve bought looked white until you mixed it up whereupon it turned a nasty, phlegm-like colour, because it was unrefined icing sugar (did I look at the box? No, I did not).

But you know how when you're really tired, and things have been going steadily wrong to the point where your brain has frozen, and you just go and do something stupid anyway? Well, I carried on and iced a few, I have no idea why. Steve came in and looked at them and asked why I'd got Sam to gob on all of my biscuits. I bravely suggested that they tasted good despite appearances, but Sam shook his head sadly after trying one. Oh well.

I made a Victoria sponge. You can't go wrong with a Victoria sponge, I thought. It looked ok to me but I have just gone to take it out of it's tin and it seems to have covered itself in sweat. Cake sweat! Where did that come from! I know it was properly cooled when I put it away, so I can only conclude that the damp layer is a sort of spongy expression of despair, brought on by the pressure of my expectations of it after the disastrous cookies.

Diversionary tactics are now called for. The room must be atmospheric, fitting the mood of the book, and setting the scene properly. Have printed out several Ouija boards to use as placemats, and will scatter the table with Rune stones and crystals. Had a rummage and found a skull on Sam's bedroom floor (naturally), and have pinned a 'ghostly' leering face inside my tumble dryer, peeping out. This represents Morris, the clairvoyant's repellent spirit guide. Also stuffed a pink rubber glove and fashioned it into a rude gesture to complete the 'Morris' effect.

Who's going to notice snotty biscuits now, ha ha?

"It's time to get political" said the teacup

Day 69

"It's time to get political", said the teacup - this is the last thing I remember from my dream last night. There was also a large, sequined, Disney-style dragon thing, that was actually Eeyore, or possible a real donkey, but ever so nice and not gloomy at all. Then along came the teacup and saucer, which I remember thinking about yesterday as I wanted my friend Rebbecca to put a candle in it, (but I don't recall thinking about a donkey), but anyway the teacup was there, complaining about being too silly, and suggesting 'improvements', and I think there was a theme park or a village fete or something. So is it any wonder that I wake up disorientated and foggy and out of sorts?

Had a bad night anyway. Couldn't sleep because my skin was crawling with irritability and my emotions were boomeranging around hormonally, and I kept wanting to cry and scream and scratch all my skin off. This happens sometimes. Steve talked kind nonsense to me until I was exhausted enough to fall asleep. Even then, I kept waking up and struggling to sleep again, until too early this morning when I was disturbed by the alarm on his phone and I promptly snapped at him - although I'm hopeful that displaying such ingratitude was actually part of my weird dream, I rather suspect it wasn't.

(Not going to ask, don't want to know, feel too embarrassed. Especially as when I did get up, he gave me a hug and brought me a poached egg on toast.)

Yesterday was fairly unproductive. Totally failed to get on with making the Christmas pressies because everything I did turned out wrong, and when I tried to fix things I made them even worse. I showed one of the results to Steve, who usually says "oh isn't that nice" about everything so he's not a very impartial critic, but even he said "oh dear", and admitted it wasn't up to standard. Will start all over again today. Fingers crossed.

I remember a time when, if I got something horribly wrong, I would be assailed by thoughts of uselessness and inadequacy. I would beat myself up, concluding that "I couldn't get anything right", and even if I couldn't hear those thoughts clearly, I would still feel terribly down, discouraged, flat, and disenchanted.

Well, enough of that! I know my parents didn't think much of my capabilities, but I don't have to perpetrate what they started. These days I allow myself the freedom to make mistakes, have good days and bad days, pick myself up when I fall down and try again, only differently, with more effort, allowing my creativity freer rein, or taking better care. I no longer use failure as an excuse to doubt myself, but as a means of self-improvement. I choose to learn from the mistakes in order to do things better, and as this is hard to do if one is heavy with self-doubt and disappointment, then sod that for a game of conkers.

So, a clean slate, a fresh outlook, a new day - let us see what they can bring. I may only be making silly hand-made Christmas presents, but if all my heart and soul and care and thoughtfulness goes into the creating of them, then I am truly giving a gift, aren't I?

Waiting for a "Yes"

Day 68

My rejection letters are starting to turn up now - I have three already. Although I am impressed by the kindness and thoughtfulness of the wording, they still say NO. I tell myself they could sometimes be saying "not at this time", and all the things I've read are quite clear on the point that a 'no' from one person is not a reflection of your work. Or even a 'no' from lots of people, apparently.

All the experts say "don't give up, believe in what you have done, persevere," etc., but what if your book actually is crap? What if you, as an author, are the equivalent of those unfortunate hopefuls on X Factor with voices like nails down a blackboard, and all the star quality of a soggy lettuce, and no-one will tell you? How do you find out?

When I watch the auditions of shows like that I am, of course, entertained, but I also feel very sympathetic towards the young people concerned. I think they been sold a pack of lies by the media. They firmly believe that if they "really, really want this" then that is what will make it happen. They do not seem to consider that talent plays any part in this at all.

The stars themselves only perpetuate this illusion. No-one since Mohammed Ali has been able to get away with blatant bragging and showing off, without committing career suicide. Nobody nowadays concludes publicly, that their success is due to them being just a hell of a lot better at this than anybody else, oh no. The most they will concede is that they have worked very hard, or were very lucky! I ask you.

This doesn't really help anyone, least of all those poor chumps under the illusion that because they go down a storm on Karaoke night (and we all know why), that that makes them God's gift to the music industry. Nor do they seem to understand that happiness is not guaranteed by appearing in Heat magazine - it does not mean your life is wonderful, fulfilling, worthwhile, utilizing your unique talents, and leaving you proud and without regrets 'when you face the final curtain'.

I feel for them, I really do.

However, by writing and illustrating this book I believe I am using my unique talents - this just may not be the format that works, I don't yet know. I will do what is suggested - I will persevere, keeping my vision clear and my hope abundant. If I get rejections from ALL the agents, I will try others, and if that does not work I will contact every publisher I can.

If all this fails to bring about the result I desire, I will find another avenue through which to express my creativity and uniqueness. I do not believe I deserve this because "I really, really want it", but only if my work is good enough. And if that proves not to be the case then, Hell's bell's but I'll work until it is.

The legacy of a life well lived

Day 67

I went to my old friend's funeral yesterday. I visualised him standing at the front of the church, smiling at us all the way he used to. I spoke to him quietly in my mind. "Thank you, Eric, for choosing me to be one of those, whose path you crossed in this lifetime. Thank you for sharing who you were. I know what a true gentleman is now, partly because of you. I am grateful indeed, that of all the people in this world, I was one of those included in your life, if even for a brief time. God speed, and say 'hello' to my sister, where you are going."

His newest grandchild was also in the church - a tiny girl named Rose Erica, after her grandad. She wore bright Christmas red, and she glowed amongst the sea of black like a heartbeat, a ruby, a promise, a prayer. The pure life-force streamed from her like an affirmation of everything good and true and precious. She pulled our attention. She would suddenly shriek with delight at a sunbeam or a funny face. Her place in the cycle of life made Eric's passing a natural peace - a life is over, but another life is also beginning, and so it goes on, just as it should.

We stayed overnight with some wonderful, true friends, and came home today, tired, a little emotional, enriched and saddened, having been spoilt and entertained, and leaving their gin and tonic bottles a little (a lot) emptier. I worry about all my friends, about their difficulties, their trials and misfortunes. I wonder if I do enough, if I give back sufficiently for all they do for me. I know without one shred of doubt that I would not have coped with my own troubles, without the generosity of their support in the past.

I hope I say the right things. I hope I cheer them up at the right times, and lend an ear when it's needed. I hope I step up with practical help often enough. I hope also that they know how grateful I am, and how much they mean to me. It is the one area of my life where I feel rich beyond description, no matter what else is happening, or how little we sometimes have. I know I cannot solve their problems, or choose the right path for them, nor am I responsible for them. Sorrow is part of every life, and that also, is how it should be, but I'm here, guys, I'm here - call me if you need me.

I gravitated naturally towards Steve that night, reinforcing a connection to the life we have here and now. I held his arm around me as we drifted to sleep, letting the air between our skin communicate for us, "it is ok, there is nothing to be afraid of, the past is gone, the future will be what we make it, and this moment - this moment, is where we are now, and nothing else matters".

Death inspires that affirmation as much as it brings the grief. Perhaps the energy released from a life returning to source, seeks to renew and remind those left behind as it passes along. Maybe that is the final blessing a departing soul can bestow, the 'Amazing Grace' that we sang of.

A last gift from Eric.

I like to think so.

Bad news, sad news.

Day 65

I set my family a small challenge the other day. I noticed that the loo roll needed changing, but yet again, somebody had just left the new one propped on the old, empty, cardboard tube. I declined to change it and waited to see how long it would be before someone else did. I have to tell you, we were well into the third loo roll before it got changed, and I found the empty tubes propped on the cistern - they never made it as far as the bin. So my conclusion is that my fellas still believe in the toilet-roll Fairy. Aaah, bless 'em.

Have had my second rejection letter, out of the seven I initially sent off. Again, it was unfailingly polite and quite kind. They were at great pains to point out that they received over 300 manuscripts per week and could only take on two or three. Although I dislike the suspense of waiting, their replies leave me with no sense of rejection at all, which is pretty good. The power of words, eh.

Have shelved working on book number two for this week, while I concentrate on getting the Christmas stuff done. Also, my brain was going round in the same old circles trying to work out the format, and when you get stuck in that loop it's always good to give yourself a break. Will get back to it on Monday, when hopefully the fog will have cleared.

Some years ago, I was involved a couple of wonderful support groups, full of people who had done the same self-develpment course as me. We upheld each other's vision in life and took a firm line against self-sabotaging behaviours and thought patterns. Sadly, one of those old, dear friends has passed away and we're going to his funeral tomorrow.

I personally believe very strongly in reincarnation, but I am aware it is just a belief, and that not everybody thinks that way. I find it comforting, and logical, and it seems to make more sense to me than any of the alternatives. My beloved sister therefore, is someone I shall meet again, but is currently a bit further away than Kenya, or Antigua, or Botswana, or any of the other places she used to live. And out of cell phone reach.

My friend Ruth, the widow of our lovely Eric who passed, probably doesn't share these beliefs, so I will endeavour to be tactful tomorrow. She is a strong and extraordinary woman who has helped me many times in the past. We taught a 'Self-Esteem Course' together, which was a privilege and a treat. She has by far the biggest heart.

I know from past experience that the day before the funeral is extremely difficult, so Ruth, I send my love, my energy, and my thoughts to you, out over the ether, and hope your pain is not too great. I will see you tomorrow, my sweet lady.

And Eric, I will see you when I see you. God speed, my darling, you were wonderful to know.