Mostly, in this funny space, I like to show you my better angels. I don’t want to bring you down with too much of the grubbier side of the human condition. Sometimes, as you know, I shall admit to frailty, sometimes to bafflement or grief. But most of the time I either do a version of make ‘em laugh, make ‘em laugh, make ‘em laugh, or a bit of a tap dance, or an attempt to offer some kind of idea or thought or life lesson. I really have no idea what I am doing here, and most of the time I am busking it, but I have a fairly strong conviction that you do not want too much of the mundane, because almost all humans have far too much of their own quotidian muddle to be going on with. You don’t need me adding to it.
Today though, I only have a wail.
I have completely fucked up my day. My time management is more buggery bollocks than you can shake a stick at. Due to weeks upon weeks of lack of organisation or method, I had to do something today which should have taken about ten minutes, and instead took FOUR HOURS. And it is not even close to finished yet. It has eaten my bloody day. I can hear the slurp of time suckage as I wrangle with the thing, and feel my brain twang and stretch and snap. The critical voices in my head are baying at me, convinced of my hopelessness and fecklessness and pointlessness.
It’s actually quite a small thing, I realise now, as I write this. I have not ripped off old ladies or raped the land or hidden all my savings in a tax haven.
I attempt to get my angst into some kind of proportion.
Although my critical voices are always ready to leap into action, I am usually fairly good at telling them to sod off when they get too vicious. Useless self-loathing is tiring and without utility, but a bit of a sharpen-up voice is not a bad thing. I am keenly aware that one should never slip into complacency. I believe that trying to do better is a worthy goal.
So I’m not quite in a pathetic puddle of self-hatred, but I feel very cross and tired and blank. Oh, oh, oh I wail, why can I not be one of those good shiny people who can keep things in proper files and make records and know where everything is? I’ll never be shiny, but I could give myself a bit of a polish. Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless.
Ah well. There is always tomorrow. I’ll go down in a while and stand in the field with the beautiful red mare. She does not care about organisation. She knows nothing of my tendency to muddle. When I am with her, I am filled with clarity. She will lean her head on my shoulder and breathe into my ear and I shall let my shoulders come down and remember what is important. I shall think about love and trees.
But oh, oh, oh, oh.
At least I did get to see this. I really cannot complain.
And, and, I think, as I scrabble about to save something from the wreckage, I did see the great-nieces and nephew. And one of the great-nieces decided that a perfect outfit for coming to see the horses involved CYAN BLUE VELVET. That fact alone should rescue my day with its bare hands. But there was more. The great-nephew, who is four, has conceived a passionate delight for all things floral. When I saw him this morning, he ran through a crowd of daffodils, exclaiming: ‘Oh, masses and masses of lovely flowers.’ How can I be grumpy when I think of that?
Ha, I realise, as my crabbed fingers bash away at the keyboard, today it took more than a red mare and a lurcher dog to save me. It took the Smalls too.
PS. I know this will be filled with typos, but I’m too tired to go over it again. Forgive me.