~o~
Sunday 26th 33F/1C. Another grey day.
Up at 7.15 after a fairly quiet night but with weird dreams. I woke as an old fart again. The proof is in every mirror. Not raised to my own vanity but to conceal hideous states of dilapidation. I see a stooping shambles of my former self. In the semi darkness of Chez Hovel. This is not what I had hoped for.
I have crammed so much into my small life that I might have hoped for just a little more of the same. Instead of which I am using valuable hours and days of my statistically unlikely autumn dismantling my own creations. A lifetime of lifting myself out of my untidiness. Seems almost suddenly to have reached an end. Without applause or reward for effort expended.
My unlikely monuments to narrow interest subjects are finally to be taken down. My hidden genius so recently concealed beyond a few memory chips. Now rears in dilapidated ruin to the vagaries of erosion, weather and my own, clumsy, fumbling demolition. I can no longer tolerate the ugliness of what I myself have wrought. The shame is too much. I can no longer use my depression as an excuse for indolence and inactivity. Damn the weather! For denying me an easy escape to the empty lanes of forgetfulness. Senility is perhaps the only true cure for the torment of regret. A stranger's kindness. Bestowed on those with survivor's guilt.
7.45 A chilly 62F/17C in the room and the stove is lit.
8.15 There is a white ground frost on the back field. I have just been outside to discard the ashen remains of over-expensive logs. A modest bag of waste food to be dropped deep into the recycling bin. Not that I waste much. It's mostly empty banana skins and foolishly expensive teabags.
Another glimpse back to childhood. When I could go to the corner shop with one coin. To fetch items which now cost what was then, more than a week's wages. Why does inflation only every keep pace with shrinking value? But never with a larger bag of the goodies themselves?
It is odd how ideas and memories pop up at random. How one's life and even survival itself. Hinged on a single event. A single chance meeting. For better or worse. How can one possibly predict the roll of the dice? With the potential to alter every twig, leaf and branch of the sapling of one's future life.
How I was saved from a life of inherited drudgery. Merely by the size of my trouser cuffs. Or the vivid colours of my paisley shirt. At the creakily conservative government office. Only for it to vanish into oblivion so shortly afterwards. How did the length of my hair affect "my career?" That foolish, petty, identikit, revolutionary in rapidly changing times. Wasted on the young of course. Who were so easily bought with fashion, gossip and music.
The intervention of another coming to my rescue. When a teenage waster drew a knife outside that village chip shop. As I defended the honour of that innocent young maiden. My first, but short lived love. Perhaps it was for the best? She kept accusing me of "using long words!" 😂
9.00 72F/22C in the room! Your torment is over. At least for the moment. I am going for a walk. I may be some time.
10.15 Quite misty in places. A walk up to the forest. Then back down by the edges of the fields. Not my best decision. Because it was so muddy. Even some large puddles barring my way.
Lots of Great tits moving about and beeping in the hedges. A bird of prey kept calling up ahead but must have been moving away. My hands were too cold in my down sweater pockets. More warmth was to be found in my trouser pockets. Albeit at the cost of appearing too relaxed for an intrepid explorer. One does try to keep up appearances.
Dinner was a chicken omelette. Successfully turned over by a plate. Excellent all around.
I have had a message from the drainage contractors. To say that they are coming at 7.30 tomorrow morning. That is good news.
~o~
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