Sunday Night Commentary

I’m glad. Here’s a moment, just now, that I enjoy, and cuddle into, and feel comfortable with. Listening to a bit of music, big lights off, sitting on my bed, in a quiet house, a quiet neighbourhood. Nights are lovely. Silence is so much kinder than noise. To me, at least. Sufjan Steven is singing, and then nobody is, and I can lean back, and relax a little, and my mind takes a break from anxiety, and it’s okay.

I’ve done the now almost habitual Sunday evening job browsing. Today’s city of choice was Edinburgh. Must go there. Take a look. For all I know, it might be perfect for me. But quite possibly, it isn’t, since perfect doesn’t usually exist. But who knows. Exciting city, but much smaller than London (which is a positive). At the sea. Some connection with people there. Art, history, a busy cultural life. Theatres. All good. All in favour. And it’s a little more affordable than living here…

It’s hard to leave. Always is. And I need to feel reasonably reassured about the place I’d be going to…

But right now, I’m here. And tomorrow is Monday, and I feel scared. Not for any particular reason. There’s just too much job to do. And I can’t do it all. Expectations. That’s what’s killing me. And really not just me. And it’s not pleasant to watch others in that situation either. And nothing about that is changing the least bit.

This week will be intense, not just work-wise. I’m taking a day off as well to be with a friend who needs support. And that day can go really well or really wrong.

But I hope to be writing too. It’s half-term, no class. More time to write. And I noticed again this weekend that writing makes me happy. And I shall do more of all that brings me happiness…

The scent of autumn leaves made me really happy as well today. The crowds didn’t. The hour more in the day did! I really noticed that, and it felt luxurious…

I’m doing bits and bobs of the mindfulness practice at the moment, not all of it. I like the 3 step breathing something, whatever it’s called; what am I thinking, what am I feeling, how is my body? Be with all that, one by one. Then gather the attention to the breath. It’s supposed to end with “extending” attention to the whole body or something, I don’t really get the last bit (and just thinking of extending is not the same as getting a sense of extending, if that makes sense). But the “checking in” beforehand, it’s good. It’s a pause.

So this is my Sunday night. Writing. Typing up the writing I did on the way, in the city. Keeping track of edits and possibilities. And there are many. And it’s good.

Next term, I think, I’ll sign myself up on a poetry class. Poetry only. I’m not hugely into short stories, I discovered. Not enough time to sink into a different place when reading. Too quick. Too many surprises. With novels, you can really lean into the experience, there’s a way to go, and time to adjust to the travelling. Otherwise, I like prose that is descriptive, impressionist, and prose poetry; and, clearly, poetry without the prose… I do like to write a story, from time to time, I have beginnings of longer texts, chapters of more, but most of the time, poetry just feels much more natural to me. But whichever it may be, I know that I want to write. More. Always more. And daily. And now the job is getting more in the way of that than expected when I signed up for the course. C’est la vie, maybe. 

That’s some of the jobs I looked into as well – copywriting, editing… Not particularly creative in those particular roles, but I’d at least be working with words… 

I might do a body scan tonight. If it helps me to sleep… Better start the week well… 

This is my rambling disappearing into the dark… Goodnight folks…

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