not exactly work in progress…

Day 14 – The Hours

The Hours is the name of a film I remember seeing in 2009 about a poet with terminal AIDS. I’d been extremely ill and it was the first thing I sat through and watched in some weeks or months. It starred a very famous actress and actor whose names escape me and as usual I cannot be bothered with the distraction of wandering off to find anything else out. I didn’t watch much else for ages, nor since, usually.

What has this to do with the day 14 writing101 task? Absolutely Nothing! Of course that’s the line that follows “WAR, what is it good for?” … perhaps that’s Frankie Goes to Hollywood. And I should just “Relax…don’t do it…”

So, this page has nothing to do with the writing101 assignment, I am simply hammering at keys as fast as I can to tell you my days, oh my daze, is not what I wish to write about right now, or usually ever.

Unusually, I was awake at 3am, having fallen asleep without meaning to, late in the evenin,g for ‘just really needing to close my eyes NOW’, intending only rest. I don’t help myself by reaching for “I must know right NOW what that next assignment is!” Oh, the excitement.

I spent several hours in a dream-like woken state, not with the assignment, having looked at it. With reading. By 9:30am, having gone up and down stairs at least a couple of times for I don’t know why coffee when I should’ve taken my dysfunctional self back to sleep properly, I had no idea what I’d been reading why and got out of bed, properly, to start the day.

Two hours later, no surprise, falling off my feet, I took myself back to bed for rest, unbelievably and still dysfunctionally wide awake reaching for more reading and note-making of unrelated to any course variety. Now I find I’m not even sure what ‘broad’ means.

Thankfully I have laundered and even hung out to dry my washing, so again up-to-date.

Really, why I fall off my feet and clog my brain with candyflossed goo very nicely every week so far in ages.

It’s 18:48pm. At approximately 2:45pm, forgetting consistency of format, I had a nice chat with my mother from the comfort of my doorstep in my pyjamas and dressing-gown. It’s quite ridiculous as she’s had major surgery and just finished her course of chemo and I seem hopeless in comparison. She sounds cheery and life seems, on the surface, to run smoothly. She needs, and has, a lot of help though. I’m too far away to do anything other than be available for chats and sound dreary and exhausted in comparison. Since her chemo she has been sharing some of my usual symptoms, memory faults, muddling and ‘fatigue’, as she she calls it. Very strange.

Anyway, never mind, because selfish as I am I am  back to typing as fast as my fingers will carry themselves for a change while standing sleep deprived at my balancing at standing height laptop, for a change, because I don’t want to tell you about my housebound day. Nor reveal that I’m neither washed nor dressed. Nor that I remembered my breakfast by about 12:30pm in spite of my very early start and have been worrying myself about needing dinner and having not enough clean cooking vessels unless I wash up first. I would like to have hot water on tap for such luxuries but have to boil a few kettles and hurt and am so lazy I might just muddle through with something to cook in that will somehow just do. There must be a muffin tin clean, I’ve not baked in almost a year at all.

One hundred sleeps until Christmas! Perhaps it’s less by today and maybe was yesterday’s news somewhere! Whenever it is, I’ll never be ready. Except I have a plan to start festive decorating with whatever xmassy things didn’t ever get put away properly last year and might be to hand – by Diwali that is. Not Xmas bells and bows, but lights and anything jolly celebratory enough. Then by my late grandmother’s birthday in November seems to be the ideal time to put my wreath up at my kitchen window – the only viable place to hang it. My landlord wishes for no hooks, screws or nails unless I request permission in writing. I have a feeling we all fall down if I try such DIY as writing another letter.

So, I have ferried myself about here and there some way and back in the blogosphere. I thoroughly killed a chicken for my dog. (That’s what I call having bought a freedom-foods one, frozen it, defrosted it, opened it’s packet and cooked it, and then hacked it to pieces. I cannot help think poor chicken. Still, I spoil my dog occasionally, not much, It will be packed into portions back in the freezer soon enough.

Now, 19:01, I need to go improvise with culinary items and food. That may take two or three times longer than it should as I leave to go do it, get distracted by chicken carcass that needs bagging to throw away, left out to apparently invite a big fly or two in for a feed. Perhaps it will be chasing one out by calmly directing it with a show of my hands – they often and usually comply you know. I don’t understand human games with fly swats. So unnecessary and take such a lot of energy. I’m sure they understand human thought. I wish moths were so compliant!

So, already I have forgotten what time I started this, but I’ll see if I have anything useful to say when I return to finish writing about my wonderfully long, if still quite hopeless day, if ever I were to compare myself to any other normal souls. I must get my washing in before I forget and it’s getting damp again, if not already. Exciting stuff, the stuff our daily lives might be made of…

20:03 daily tasks performed – other than eating yet. The dog’s been fed of course. Distracted by remembering suddenly that I had published my partial page AND it was left floating on top in plain view, right where I did not want it. Only after enjoying a few minutes fresh air at my back door.

The sky is such a beautiful range of jewel blue colours from the lighter azure tinted hue at the tree line that meets the sky for the most percentage of 180 degrees of my view from where I stood, reaching to the greatest heights in a multitude of deep blues. Creamy wisps of thin cloud, inky grey overlays in places and the small Van Gogh effect of the stars. The audible escaping of my ‘wooh!” as a bat swoops by before my eyes, disrupting my visual appreciation in the most wonderful ways a creature of Nature can. Back indoors now to type those moments before I lose them. 20:08 (typing more slowly. Need to eat! (had 3 crackers & peanut butter to hold off fainting – not that I usually faint!)

21:42 My dinner is now in the oven (!) What’s been going down hasn’t yet hit my tum, nor my tom tom and I do wish I had one… getting kind of late for the tambourine and choral medley with some Cheech and Chong malarkey attached and MenTalk(Rap) (a poem) and some fun and game plans with a little Bohemian Rhapsody practise and I do wonder why on earth we have social conventions that fail to include the high you get for not sleeping… and the danger to your neighbour’s ear’oles with Japanese walls and a half dozen to one potential range of lyrical soul hystericals… and back-chatting radio 1 … wishing for some wonderful world Jimmy Cliff, finding a similar, not the same…

I wish the Real Slim Shady’d turn up and do my washing up! But course that’s not likely either… 21:46… my head hurts…among other things…but you’d never bloomin’ believe it if you lived next door at some of these rare moments… you must think I’m tugging at your hark-string-trinkets and pulling your eggy-bread and i should’ve hit the trample and lairs… trample’s a bit obvious… have I really got nothing better to say than this bit of trite spilligan …

short answer …

… 21:49…

21:58 Nearly made myself cry with both laughter and despair as I read back this page! And I’m leaving it! (free-writing… ) My mini-oven just dinged to say dinner’s ready, but it fibs, cos I want baked beans and I forgot to put them in – and it probably needs a bit extra time… and things turning…  22:01

(from here, writing the morning after, to complete my day’s account…)

23:00 and my dinner was ready! Why so long? I’d put half a can of beans into a mug to cook in the mini-oven with my veggie sausages, veggie burgers, the last three hash browns. While I sang along or against the radio, chatted back at one DJ or another between one radio station and the next, I was waiting for the ready ‘ding!’ that would not arrive until I remembered to turn that timer dial to switch it back on!

I’d felt like singing for a change to remind myself I’m alive, to air my lungs and stretch my brain into remembering some lyrics – mostly incomplete – sometimes making up new words – generally in a silly frame of mind. For lack of enough sleep, now at a twenty hour waking day, which is quite unusual. On those days, lacking sleep, my leg pain is less and my legs function a bit easier. That has to be for oxygen deprivation during sleep. Yet I cannot stay awake to live and function this little better. Of course, by this time, my brain is clearly lacking oxygen and blood flow for having been upright for this long. I can see it in my free-writing above. I was ‘merry’ with not a drop of alcohol nor any other intoxicant. The intoxications of sleep deprivation and poor circulation / low blood pressure.. My feet and ankles swelled like balloons and the pain like a cheesewire pulling tighter and tighter at my ankles.

I ate my dinner to Radio 3. The rave on Radio 1 and the block-beat-rap on our local radio had become irritant and I was getting stressy for those ‘tunes’. Some Bartok to listen to was fantastic and settled me nicely. I’d had to sit to eat for the pain of standing so long. Those few minutes of sitting caused excruciating upper back pain as my mid-spine compressed. Now, for sitting those minutes, my legs near gave up.

I remembered to note that starting on 8th October, Radio 3 will broadcast the first in a series of lunchtime concerts.

23;20 No surprise, I had to take myself to bed with a cereal bowl of dinner filled stomach, imagining I could stay awake another two hours and do more writing. Wrong! I lay-sat, propped up in bed, my eyes gazing at the screen and my eyelids falling, gluing themselves down as they forced themselves closed while I tried to force them to stay open.

Twenty-five minutes past midnight, I gave in, nothing achieved. Dinner wasn’t very much, I was no longer full-stomached. I switched off and slept.