Tuesday, August 11, 2020

Summer of my discontent...

First World Problems.... it's the truth. I'm so incredibly lucky - a home, food on the table, my kids are (relatively) safe, I can pay my bills.... and yet I bitch and get frustrated - the restlessness that threatens to overwhelm me at times permeates my days... it's amorphous... unsettled, a vagueness to it that frustrates and irritates.  Most of all I feel an overwhelming sense of pressure, as if something were looming ahead of me, an anxiousness (to which I am not normally prone).

Since last May I have felt that August was going to be a fateful month, a month of change and flux, a month where vistas opened, paths appeared, where change beckoned and capered and promised and threatened and where the world would cry out .... a voiceless primeval shout that would resonate and echo in the deepest corners of my soul...

There is grief there... pressing against me, sharpening claws against my mind at unexpected, unlooked for moments.  It settles at times, a heavy purring presence in my soul, aching, painful and a constant to my movements each day. 

I walked, yesterday, through the muted early morning, droplets of mist swirling around my face, trailing fingers softly against my face... around me the trees swaying in the warm exhale of a summer fog, softening angles and wrapping pale arms around the peaked roofs and blurring into grey mist the yearning branches reaching to the clouding, drifting sky fading into eternity above me.  The heat crouched, waiting, beyond the tainted heat of the gauzy air and in the distance, foghorns wailed...

I need my ocean. My frigid, beautiful sea with the harsh cry of gulls, and the pounding of surf and the earthy, sharp scent of seaweed and the feel of coarse sand beneath my feet and the crunch and giving sweep of bay.  I think better there. I think too of my mother, a year dead in a couple of weeks and her own love of sea and sand and the tang of salt and the clean ocean breezes which sweep into your soul and open up the dark corners and scour them clean and allow the freshness and cleanliness of their breath to open windows into the dark hidden places.

First world problems.  But here I am, trapped and fettered by uncertainty and COVID and angry at myself for feeling so restless and unhappy and unsettled....

Saturday, August 1, 2020

Once upon a time....

We walk, enveloped by the soft, humid embrace of night, inches away yet cocooned within the yawning abyss of broken words and deeds... The moon, three-quarters full, hangs silver glowing in the dark sky, and I gaze, eyes reaching to its pale, cool canyons of white noise and feel it's pale, cool embrace whispering against my skin.

I remember another night... a night of soughing summer breezes and my skin breathing moisture from its pale, freckled expanse and your hand in mine, that night and the hot, breathy expectation.  Summer grasses, soft against my back, and the stars wheeling above us in a wine-dark sky and the August moon, then (unlike now) a sweet crescent in the abyss of space.   Your hand on my breast, demanding, urgent, moulding and cupping and the sharp, aching feel of my nipple against your palm...

I remember our bodies, needing, wanting, and the deep, aching feel of my womb and the feel of you in my hand, skin soft and slippery and damp, velvet sliding over firmness, the weeping tip of you and sweat beading our bodies, fragrant and slick in the hot summer night and the feel of you in me, the frisson of flesh in flesh and the sky above my eyes exploding in colour and the great arching expanse of sky melding and embracing and becoming an urgent, panting merging of our bodies and the absolute fusion of thought and feeling...

And after, as we lay, satiated, content, our bones liquid against the warm earth and sweat beading and cooling in the humid breath of summer night, the colours are there, arching, crying silently against the dark sky... blues, reds, greens and a deep moaning violent and we watch entranced.... through some quirk of sky, and magnetism and magic, they dance and cavort across our usually monochromatic night sky, pulling our eyes and our spirits up and into the heavens to cavort and dance some magnificent cotillion and I hear, deep in my heart and my inner ear, the trilling, sweet voice of the abyss .. a siren song entangling and embracing and for a moment, that moment, we are deeply, poignantly aware of our place in the universe....

The dog pulls and my thoughts return and we walk in the hot, humid Lammas eve night and we walk alone... inches away yet so far apart and I feel a swelling, fierce sorrow for the loss of that hot August night so many moons ago.


Wednesday, July 29, 2020

Restless...

Lots of thoughts have been percolating around in this scattered brain of mine... I find myself incredibly restless.... a combination, I think, of forced inaction because of the pandemic together with this overwhelming feeling of life changes ... based on nothing more than too many thoughts colliding, confusion about what lies ahead, with fillips of serious anxiety due to children with crappy things happening in their lives, the one-year anniversary of my mum's death coming up in a few weeks and an absolute confusion about whether I want to move or stick here and find a summer place near my beloved ocean...

Of course all of the above have complications - like MONEY - which I don't have any.  Honestly, I understand why people walk away from houses and estates when someone dies.... settling my mother's incredibly simple estate (she had a house in Quebec and debt)- has been stressful, exhausting and most of all EXPENSIVE.... this has all been compounded by incompetent banks, the pandemic which closed down the Courts (except for emergencies) and a sister on the spectrum that is a constant, unrelenting source of expense, worry and frustration.

I'm just so damn TIRED of adulting and that's the truth .... I would truly, honestly love a time - even a little time - where I don't constantly have to fret about so many responsibilities ... or at the least have something in my life which gives me comfort and pleasure.

I went full-scale into painting (house painting)- doing the outside shutters (which involved me clambering around on ladders and the porch roof!), 2 bedrooms (including my own which turned out AWESOME - so calm and zen-like), sanding and painting stairs, doing hallways and parts of the basement (D.'s bookcases take up the majority of walls so there were a limited number of walls I had to paint).  For the win, I managed (somehow) to MATCH the paint colour on the basement walls AND more importantly, the hallway paint as I didn't have the original paint colours to guide me.

But now the paint is put away and I find that roiling, twisting mess in my stomach is a constant companion.. restlessness, quick spurts of anger, and anxiety out of the roof.. what the HELL is wrong with me?