the vessel is half-full
That means it is also half-empty. If not more than half. Ms Baroque is being run into the ground with the stress of two teenage boys (strangely, just as stressful when they're not home as when they are, which is never), an adolescent girl ('Mummy - just don't, okay"), work, constant communications from the teachers ("just tell them to fuck off" - Tall Blond Rock God), her receding social life (gets telescope out) and invisible love life (gets microscope out), the endless carrying of shopping up the hill and the recycling down it (gets out wrist bandages), a constant sapping fatigue and interrupted, nightmare-hounded sleep. This week has, on top of all those other things, included a dragging semi-cold and backache left over from last week's illness. Ms B's hair won't go right, and all her clothes are uncomfortable.
I fear the vessel has developed a crack. What is draining out through the crack are all those bits that involve and depend on other people. The juices. What will be left at the bottom will be silt - the undiluted dregs of the Real, Solitary Ms B. It won't be pretty. It might be a little like those weird bits you get in the bottom of the wine bottle; it might even be like when you accidentally drink them.
4 comments:
Can't you go to Cornwall on your own, or with a friend? It sounds like you need some spiritual Polyfiller.
Do something completely wacko nonchalantly in front of those teenagers like wear one red and one polka acrylic sock to work WITH BROWN LEATHER SANDALS. Then they'll think you're finally losing it and next thing you know they'll be whispering and bringing you a soft-boiled egg and lightly-toasted-and-buttered multi-cereal bread for breakfast in bed and whispering and doing all their homework and coming home and staying home and whispering and bringing you eggs benedict and asparagus (over-cooked but hey) on a tray for supper with a blowsy beige-ish rose one of them ran down to steal out of the square garden. And looking at you anxiously. And whispering.
Or, if you don't have any acrylic socks, you could just go to bed early.
Talking about you in a lavishly praiseworthy manner on my blog today -- check it out! Might cheer you up.
Nic
Ms. B: Don't know if this'll console you, but the weird bits at the bottom of the bottle are what gives the wine its body and individuality, however they might taste.
Francis, I was thinking to take a friend as well as les enfants, for that very purpose - but now not only are les enfants less than enthused, but none of the three people I've asked so far has been able to attend.
However, the opportunity to mope along seaside cliffs sounds better than moping alone in N16, and the laptop will beckon as well. I might even write some poetry. Who knows what will happen.
Nic, thanks for that! Your advice sounds good. Your scenario sounds charming. I've always thought that half the advantage of a good breakdown must be its effect on those around. Thanks for all the ongoing discussion on your blog. It was fun answering the ten questions! I don't usually think of myself as "on shelley's side," though I do have a residual soft spot for him I suppose. Despite everything. One day I might get semtimental (I'd have to be feeling pretty damn sentimental) and write something.
Maht, thank you so much for that, you are right of course and not surprisingly. Hope your novel's going well...
Post a Comment