I am not sure what to do about these pages.
Writing here takes up a very lot of time. Sometimes this is when I am feeling too idle and would rather be asleep. Sometimes this is when I am at work and keep being interrupted. Sometimes it is when I have got a lot of other things to do and really do not want one more last straw nuisance that I need to complete before I can read my library books or have a shower or open the bottle.
When I decided to stop writing here it was a complete relief.
A week later it was not a relief. It was sad.
I discovered that I quite like writing things, and that it is terrible to hear a skylark and not have anybody to tell about it. Obviously I can tell Mark, but he just says something like Oh Yes That’s Nice, and does not listen if I start to wax lyrical about its melodic tones and the joyfulness of the summer.
Of course I know really that the skylark was not being joyful but was shouting Buzz Off All You Other Skylarks This Bit Of Air Is Mine, but this is not the point. I can pretend to you and to myself that its little heart was full of delighted skylarkiness and it burst forth in an ecstasy of song to lift me out of my leaden cares on my morning walk.
The point is that it is nice to have somebody to tell these things to, even if you are just saying Oh Yes That’s Nice as well. I suppose it helps that you are having your breakfast somewhere else and so I will never know what you are saying. I will never know even if you do turn instantly to look at everybody who has liked you on Facebook and to think about the email from the electricity board who want to put the prices up again. I don’t suppose you will give another thought to skylarks for the whole day.
This is not important in the least. The thing that seems to matter is the actual telling, like one endless Facebook entry with added pictures of dinner. I do not know why this seems like a good thing to do.
Today I have done lots of washing and been for a walk. I bought some halloumi in Sainsbury’s, and tried to fry it, but it turned out black and sticky so perhaps I did something wrong. The end result was like eating flip-flops that have been worn to walk through something nasty. I will have to try again, but differently.
There, that is my day described lyrically, for the benefit of your interest in reading it, and my satisfaction in telling you all about it.
Perhaps it is a bit like therapy. This is where you give somebody forty quid and they listen to you whittering on for an hour without interrupting or telling you to shut up.
I am afraid I am not going to be handing out forty quid to anybody.You will just have to be volunteers, like the Samaritans.
I do not know exactly what I am going to do. Perhaps I will not write quite as often. There are some days when really I do not have time to write anything at all. Perhaps I will skip those days.
If I am writing a very lot for other purposes perhaps I will have to stop writing in here. I would like to make some money by writing things.
I am still thinking about it.
I would be grateful for your patience if you would just watch this space. I am sorry to be so indecisive.
Hmmm.
