After Friday comes Saturday.

This was Friday:

I am not lost but I feel lost.  No.  I do not feel lost I feel left behind.  It’s more an abandonment than a getting lost.    Or perhaps it is more of a cutting off, a disconnection.  It is an island but not a pretty one.  I want to build bridges, maybe even a boat. I could live on my island if I just had a small boat.  There is no boat.  There might be coconuts, perhaps I should check.

No writing news.  No rejections, no acceptances.  Not enough stuff out there.  One submission done this week  One poem drafted everyday but no edits done.  No Competitions. I hate them.  I am quitting the comps.  It is March and I am failing all my resolutions.  Or just failing.

Good things.  Some days almost pain free.  Like finding a luxury ice-cream parlour on a summer’s day.  Not good things.  I am sad just now.   I think perhaps it’s grief.  Lots of grief.  Years of it bundled up in a ball that’s sticking in my chest like a fist.  I thought at first it was shame, I have been writing nothing but shame poems  but just this week I read a piece about grief and somewhere in the hills of my wee brain a bell rang.  Maybe it was a goat, Heidi and her Grandfather herding.  Or maybe I am on to something.  Or maybe I am losing the plot.  Probably that.Watch Full Movie Online Streaming Online and Download

The children are little suns.  I am lucky.  I am rich.  They are heating the house, me.  They want apples, banana’s, biscuits, bread.  I like to make them soup.  It makes me feel wholesome, farm-housey.  The youth theatre is good.  Young people being creative is like fresh full-fat milk.  I like the work because it take me out of my own head.  I like the young people because they are remarkable.  Always I learn more from them, always.  And I like to learn.  I am sure if the Dr would prescribe me a weekly workshop with someone interesting I would be fine and dandy.  I am far from everything.  I feel like I fell off a train.  Everyone else is at their destination, I’m sitting on my arse in some random bush, twigs up my bum.  I’ve fallen off a lot of trains.  I am good at that.  Maybe I should try and catch another train.  Or maybe I should stay in my bush and hope Moses doesn’t pitch up.

This was Saturday:

Today is a good day.  I feel well within myself, happy.  The housework is actually sort of done.  I was up at 5:30, I drafted three poems, they might be real ones.  I had quiet time, the kids didn’t wake up early.  I read Emily Berry poems.  I fed my kids and my neighbours kids and my neighbour with the soup.  My children played outside.  I got some work done on an application.  I didn’t feel wretched.  I talked with a friend on-line.  I needed help with something and another friend came round to help me, the world is a good place.  Later in the day I had a poem accepted by Prole. It was one about my Dad. This is special, I have been trying to write about my Dad’s death for a long time, failing.  Strangely one of my three poems this morning was also about that.  I think it might be a real poem.  I wasted time watching TED talks.  I had a rest, I might be getting the hang of this pacing milarky.  I feel better for it.  I built an icy snow castle for the kids with chairs and blankets.  I let them have tea in it.  I am planning an early night.  The kids are watching bad Let it Go versions on You Tube.  I am drinking too much Peppermint tea.  It is a good day.

Today is Saturday.  Some days are Friday but Saturday will come.

One thought on “After Friday comes Saturday.

  1. ‘Some days are Friday but Saturday will come.’ I love this. So true. I owe you an email/a DM, haven’t forgotten! Will come back to you later.

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