Wednesday, July 04, 2007

Entirely unafraid

The things I want are small but impossible. Some are bigger, and even less possible, but most are so tiny I can scarcely believe that I will not have them.


I remember when I found out I had the job at S&P. I was in Lyme Regis with S, my sister. It was a beautiful summer day. We were sitting outdoors at a cafe.

I want one more day in the sun. I hate my life and I cannot see it changing. The impossibility of change for the good is killing me. I cannot make a good choice from where I am now, and I am full of resentment against those who hold me back, even though I know it is all my own doing.


I remember a cold night in Stanmer park, believing that my world could be different when I woke. I remember our breath in huge clouds. Well, she went back to her boyfriend, and I don't remember what became of me, but that was just one more thing to regret that I didn't do it the way I wished I had.

I want another misty night. I cannot stand the weather here. I never would have believed sunshine could be so cheerless. But sunny days mean measures to avoid the sun. They don't tell you that when they are selling this place.


I am not writing about anything special. You can look away if you like. Don't feel you have to come with me. I am not going anywhere good.

I have had the flu for a week. It keeps changing but I don't feel any better day after day. I have no appetite, not that there's anything good to eat even if I did have one. The worst is the lassitude. I just cannot pick up my feet and walk. I don't feel I can recover from that, I have had it so long.

And I have been profoundly sad and I don't know how to stop. I think I have fallen off the edge and I can't climb back up. I do not mean I am depressed. I don't feel depressed at all. (Quite the opposite; I am in a manic phase and I am full of energy and plans.)

I don't even know what I am sad for. I should be depressed about the impossibility of even the smallest achievement but I am not; I have become resigned to it. I just want the desire to fade away: I want to forget playing poker for money (will never be good enough), forget going home (impossible without losing my children), forget doing anything for money except editing, forget being loved by people who are too in love with themselves to have space for another, forget everything and allow myself to drown in it.

I realise that writing blogposts about feeling sick is an invitation for everyone who thinks they'd make a good doctor to post their remedies. But don't. Post cash money instead. At least that would be of some use.


I remember walking across the playing fields in the dark, entirely unafraid. But they paved them, covered them in houses. If you have hopes in this life, never surrender them; nothing else compensates.


At 8:37 pm, Anonymous Kev said...

Any idea where Sweet Ps blog has gone ???


At 9:40 am, Blogger Dr Zen said...

Sorry, no idea. Probably canned it again. Maybe she'll take the opportunity to note what's happened to her in these comments.


Post a Comment

<< Home