So, what’s going on with you? I mean, how are you?
Today I’m not going very far. Here in England, it’s a bright, windy day. Irregular blue patches of sky peep out from beneath fast moving, fluffy white, cotton wool clouds. Life appears not too shabby. From my point of view, here at the top of a tower block, looking out over the sprawling domestic homes, industrial parks and greenery of Hertfordshire, I know I’m blessed.
Can’t help wishing I was out in that blustering wind though, battling against it. I realise that I’d soon want to come back in to the warmth but the thought of fighting something real but invisible, like the wind, is appealing.
Surrounded by paperwork, there is much I should be doing. Mostly, I find myself day dreaming. I may find something online but it’s getting increasingly difficult to find joy on Facebook or WordPress. Gaming occupies my active mind, but it’s not fulfilling.
Pissed I just spent the last thirteen weeks sharing my blog page to over eight thousand people on my profiles to have ten view it. For them, I am grateful but overall the experience has been heart breaking and not encouraging.
It’s coming up to a late, late breakfast and I’m waiting for my coddled eggs to cook. Yep. You read that right. Coddled eggs. Old fashioned and exceptionally lazy/easy they are the perfect cooking appliance that no one knows about. I put the eggs in the coddler and the bacon in the oven, set the timer and heyho, brunch.
Hopefully, if this damn covid19 testing and illness calms down, I’ll get to see my grandchildren over the Easter break (their father’s firm insisted he got tested and it was positive, so he’s isolating) and I’m thinking of checking out the Jurrassic event at Cassiobury if the weather’s nice and I’m well enough. Fingers crossed.
Like most people I know, ignoring the war mongering, the pharma corruption, the increased violence, the price hikes, so called fuel crisis and strangeness of our lives has become an art. I wait patiently for my surgery. Four years now. At some point I may become a priority.
My lover and I had a strange discussion last night about my use of the word ‘eclectic’. He claims it’s a classist term and that I should say ‘mixture’ instead. I disagreed, claiming that ‘mixture’ is more about describing things that are mixed together rather than a collection of different items not having anything to do with each other.
However, I have admit I quite like saying the word, eclectic, eclectic, eclectic… it clicks on the tongue and it’s more satisfying to pronounce than mixture.
The annoying thing is, I suspect he is right.
So, what about you?