My husband has a mistress.  I don’t blame him, she’s hot.  Roasting in fact.  Her name is Stacy and she’s a stove.  A very lovely stove who can meet my husband’s ongoing obsession with heat transfer in a way that I could never hope to achieve.  I don’t mind her, she keeps us all warm to be fair and she’s never caused me any problems.  The same can not be said for the sodding wood that she eats however.ReTeksОсвещение в гостиной

This week one of the little bastards bit me, or rather it gave me a splinter.  Tiny little thing. I wasn’t worried, my kids get splinters all the time, as did I when I was wee.  Pair of tweezers and a needle and you can pull the little shit out and your’re done.  But this little splinter was a bit more determined.

Four days I tried and failed to get it out. I did all the usual stuff with pins and needles and then moved onto the baking soda and bandage routine. Nothing worked and that tiny little bit of wood was giving me no end of grief.  And it really was tiny.  When it finally came to the surface and my husband performed a kind of Macedonian surgery on my finger I couldn’t believe how such a little thing had caused me so much pain.  But that’s often how it goes – all those little splinters that keep working their way to the surface and causing us pain as they do.

I’ve had a fair few splinters this year.  Certainly at the start of the year I was not that well within myself.  Anxious, low, the Dr was all but tipping Anti-depressants down my throat.  I said no, then yes then no again and I am glad.  Not that I am against them but it wasn’t a path I wanted travel. And it was all splinters, bits and pieces from the past that I thought were buried dragging their jaggy way back up the the surface, causing infections, swelling, pus – all the pretty things.

Somehow, over the course of this year, I have managed to pull a few splinters lose.  I am not in the same place I was at the start of this year.  The anxiety has dampened itself down again, I feel more equipped to deal with the low periods that I tend cycle through and my physical health is finally on the up thanks mostly to yoga and following a now vegan diet (it’s amazing what you can give up when it means you are in less pain).  But there are others that are proving to be a bit more stubborn.

I really wanted to study this year.  I banged hard on that door.  I searched for courses that I could physically do when you live in an area of Scotland that feels like it’s far away from everything.  I found so many courses that I would love to do, all of them impossible for some reason or another, extortionate prices (I’m looking at you Frantic Assembly), just too far away (pretty much everything else) or they require you to be residential for an extended period of time (kids).  I have spent literally hours searching for a solution.  The course that I had lined up for myself that was near by and affordable stopped running just in time for my application.  I failed to get a place on another course although admittedly it wasn’t a first choice, it was just one I could practically do.  It’s just been a horrible, frustrating, head banging against wall experience and I want to give up.

I did try, I wrote about it recently – the this is itness of my life.  Ah well, not exactly what I wanted but not at all bad, not even close, it’s all rather lovely actually, so there’s one wee splinter nagging away but OK, we can learn to live with that.  But I am finding that more of a challenge than I thought and I was back to my dirty little habit of googling courses this week.  I read a lovely post on giving up this week by Elizabeth Gilbert.  She talked about giving up verses surrendering.  How surrender is an act of grace, it’s saying I have come to the end of what I have here. So maybe that’s as close as I can get.  A sense of surrender to this damn splinter that won’t work it’s way out of my skin.  And yes it’s sore but it’s too deep.  I have to trust it will drag it’s way to the surface when it’s ready .

Splinters aside I have had two published poems come through my letter box this week which is nice. One with Lighthouse and one with the My Dear Watson project which has been a lovely thing to be a part of.  I feel a bit disconnected from all that but I am hopeful that the new year will allow me a fresh start with the writing. Apart from that it’s all be rehearsals and planning for rehearsals.  I’ve been glad of the inservice days as a chance to catch my breath (and tidy the house).  And it’s snowing again, proper lovely fat snow.  We’ll need to get Stacy on, I’ll let my husband deal with the wood.


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