Spring Clean

On Saturday night I cleaned the house. Or at least I made a start. In the end it proved too large a job for one evening, and frankly speaking, too painful a job. I kept finding things which belonged to Morag, and before I knew what had hit me, I was crying like a baby. More specifically, a baby that’s been left for a whole month in an unchanged nappy, gathering soil. I spent a lot of Saturday crying. I’m a big girl’s blouse, I know.

I texted Morag too. I couldn’t help it. I just wanted her to know that I missed her. It’s not that I want to get back with her. I don’t. We’re not right for each other. And that’s that. But I miss her. And I feel terribly lonely without her.

When she didn’t reply to my text, I sent her an email. She wrote back on Sunday. It was a nice email. It felt like we might manage to be friends. One day. Somehow it felt like closure. Like it’s time to stop moping and move on.

So I’m posting this poem now, to get it out of the way. I wrote it some time over the last few weeks. It’s not very good, I’m afraid. This is because I am not a poet. It’s called Stockholm Syndrome. Here it is here:

Since you saw fit to declare our love dead,
I’m free to be wilfully, shamelessly me.
Away from the shame of the shake of your head,
I’m free to be all I suppose I must be.

I'm free to perform my ablutions with vigour,
Whilst loudly declaring with nose, throat and bowels.
I am free to flick floss flotsam onto the mirror,
And dry my clean penis on fluffy face towels.

Should I desire I am free to spit phlegm
Into the tall kitchen bin or the sink,
I’m free to mock Marquez but like Eminem,
And not have to hear yet again what you think.

I’m free to make tea with the milk poured in first,
Then go to bed late and with booze on my breath.
I’m free to drink juice from the carton when thirsty,
And free to make dubious jokes about death.

I’m free to embarrass and say what I’m feeling,
Free to feel furious, free to vent spleen.
I’m free to reveal what I feel needs revealing,
And not give a fuck about keeping it clean.

So here I am free to be me unberated,
Living my life how I like, free from dread.
But freedom for me is a tad overrated,
Since you saw fit to declare our love dead.

No, I know. It’s rather adolescent. I’m sorry.

It’s out now though. It’s done. Dusted and done. Time to move on.

Now I must get on with the rewrites for the book. Then I must get back to the grind and find some more work, because I am skint. And in the meantime I must stop sending drunken emails about moles and tortoises to virtual strangers, because I’m really not doing myself any favours.

And that’s that.

Oh, one more thing. This:



...is from Ange's salt cellar:



So now you know.

Onwards!

Feedback Wednesday :: March

bulk :: 15st 2
booze :: not much at all, considering
painkillers :: just a handful
joints :: zero
healthy meals :: zero
films :: 5
visits to the dentist :: 1
days till deadline :: -5
panic level :: 2
whinge level :: 1
spring fever fervour :: 6

Before this month began, I vowed to myself that I would do a minimum of 15 minutes ball work every single day. Pilates Ball work, that is. ‘March,’ I declared, with all the wide-eyed earnestness of a man with a fresh start between his teeth, ‘is Abs Month!’

The first day was a doddle, because I didn’t really do it very well. The second day however, I did it very well indeed. An invigorating combination of punishing ball-work, some rather pelvis-heavy disco-dancing, and press-ups, all offered to Mr Motivator, the patron saint of Home-Exercise, to the accompaniment of the new Lemon Jelly DVD I got for two or three pounds in Fopp in Cambridge Circus. I love Fopp. I’m giving Fopp free advertising.

On the third day I woke up wearing a girdle of pain which simultaneously reassured me I had stumbled upon the right exercises, and also convinced me to take a day off. I’m back on it today however, and looking forward to throwing myself a beating a little later on.

Another little thing that popped into my addled hive this monthabouts was the idea of starting a daily photo website and calling it, let’s say, In the Details or some such. I’m just playing with the idea at the moment, not really sure where I’m going. I like details though, that’s what it comes down to. But is that enough on which to base a new blog? Why, of course it is. And the devil really is in the details, I’m convinced of that. So I decided whilst I ponder and thrash, that I’d post a picture here, every day in March.

I started yesterday, disguising it as a passing fancy, and your responses both heartened and amused. If there were a prize, it would go to daisyfae because, even though both of her answers – ‘…an egg in a porcelain egg rest. Or the granite nipple of David….’ - were wrong, both brought a low, lexicogenous hum to my lymph.

Oh, and nil points to Lennie Nash, who snatches the Russell Brand award for unnecessarily inappropriate remarks direct from Carol Thatcher’s grasping, toxicankerous mitts.

It was actually my gorgeous new mouse for my gorgeous new computer where I now spend every waking hour.

Today’s pic is down below.

How exciting.

So what with the stomach, and the photos, and all the other quotidian guff stuff, I shall be posting a lot over the coming few weeks.

In fact, I think it’s safe to say :: March is Quotidian Guff Month, where the byword is quantity, not quality.

In other news, I handed in the manuscript on Friday. Now, as I await verdicts and edits and last-minute panics, I am free. Free, I tell you, for the first time – to this extent - in my entire life!

Although the first instalment of the advance has already been swapped for a proper computer and used to eradicate the first third of an agonizing tax bill, I have paid the rent for the next month and I should be able to last till the second instalment.

So I have a bit of time. I’ve got a couple of weeks worth of things to watch and read, so I’m going to do that. And some pottering about online, offline and in my lady’s chamber.

(I have no lady, but if I did, rest assured, I would be pottering in her chamber right now.)

Now, where the hell is my jazz oregano?

Here is today’s image. First one to get is, gets it…



Any thoughts?

March Came In Like A Frozen Hare....

I've got big plans for March. But not yet. I'm off to see my friend Ange today. She hasn't been well, so I'm going to go spread some joy. As is my wont. Then I'll be back. And just as soon as I'm back, we've got some catching up to do, you and I.

I leave you with this:



Can you see what it is?