Potted.

You know those times where you are so busy just the thought of adding to the To Do list feels heavy?

Where you wake up already feeling late?

And spend a fortune on chai lattes and taxis to fit in every last ounce of day?

Well, I have that.

It’s become something chronic.

I don’t know how the talent agents and stock brokers in the movies survive like this. It’s excruciating.

Luckily for me, a small amount of peace is on its way, and my heart becalms at the very thought.

*

Now I could say all this work-a-day, busy-body, pseudo-important business is what’s been keeping me away from the blogosphere.

That I’ve been too busy to keep you up to speed.

But it’d be a lie.

I’m not too busy. I’m not even working that hard.

But life is what we make it, and I’ve filled every nook and cranny of mine with “IMPORTANT” things (and by important things I mean laminating. and rotating the car tires).

It’s some self-deluded game of cat & mouse.

And it’s not the busy that keeps me away but the quiet.

The looming dark of the forest and the silent screams in my nightmares.

There is too little light in my world just now.

I don’t want to dwell on it, so mostly I make my life a busy panicky guddle that required my undivided attention, and also conveniently leaves no time to tell anyone.

If I’m not woman enough to listen to my own thoughts, I certainly don’t want to pour their treacle-y sorrow all out in front of you lot.

Which is stupid on both counts really.

Who do I think I’m kidding: trying to run away from myself?

Daft I tell you.

… so.

So?

So. There.

Now you know.

This sucks.

*

I am sure there are still unicorns and rainbows. I still am vastly proud of the malted milk cake I invented at the weekend. I still rapture at every ray of sunlight.

But mostly it’s dark and grey and cold, and I am still stuck in bloody Scotland.

I feel as though I’m stagnating. Festering.

Slipping back into old habits and a former life I actually was quite happy to leave behind, but in the void it seems like all I’ve got; and in my weakness I find comfort in its familiarity.

I have outgrown this soil and need re-potting. Stat.

So, you know, if you could pull strings at Immigration or something that’d be really awesome about now.

In the meantime, I’m going to have to figure out how to make peace with myself.

Surely that can keep me busy for a while…

 

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