let myself down again

Photo a day... what with uploading, etc , taking the photos? Failed miserably....

Still, did a bit more editing on my novel, and started new story. Can't be a complete disaster.
And daughter enjoying her work experience, pretending she is at Vogue, and important. She is going
to a casting tomorrow.... what fun.

Keith

Bit of a cheat today's picture. It hasn't been taken by me but it is of someone I knew when I was about 23. And I have just learned that he has died at the end of last month. Heaven knows why in this school picture he is surrounded by girls, but then it seems strangely fitting. I had quite a crush on Keith- a saxophone player in a band led by a dear friend of mine. But ours was not to be a relationship. Just ships passing in the night. But I did inadvertently introduce him to his wife. He met her at one of my parties. One of those desperate occasions when you hope the light will dawn at your party that you are the girl for him, but find to your horror the light instead reveals another , and you are forced to witness the man of your dreams meet the woman he will fall in love with, and it isn't you. I am sad he has died so young. He was very talented. And no he wasn't for me. But something must have marked me in the exchanges we had. I chose another saxophone player in the end.....

sorry pic didn't upload yesterday.
OUt searching for today's

Daughter back. Lovely as she is , was enjoying my space and peace on my own. I do not get enough.
Thoroughly irritable today as was she. Miserable day brightened up by this sight.

Bad mood. Have lost a favourite denim jacket. Have a cleaning lady who manages to leave stains on carpet that nothing will remove. And daughter who has been with her dad for a week has come back and I find it hard to get back into being the person who is irritating to her in all ways. And I am irritated with her. I want to scream. I also want to be alone again, just for a little while. In a space I can breath again. Does this make me a bad mother I wonder?
Brent Cross again today. Bungies were in force. Photo of the day. The ceiling at BC.

Thursday's Photo - Dance night

Liked the idea of a photo a day by the man in America. Seen in the Guardian G2 yesterday.
In 1979, a young New York film student called Jamie Livingston decided to take one Polaroid image every day of his life.
Here is last night's.

Cy Twombly piece

A few days ago my daughter's friend came home from being away a month. She is 17 has had ME for two years, and went away while her home has had all the rot removed from it and is being repainted with waterbased paint. She came home to a house in chaos, and paint fumes that stopped her breathing and sent her heart racing. She is now here with me and her best friend (my daughter). It is lovely to see her and frightening to see her so ill. She lies on the sofa watching DVD's with M who hasn't seen her best friend for 7 months even though she is a five minute walk away. She talks of the anger and pain of losing friends who don't call and she feels forgotten, except by my daughter who has called her every day for the last two years. This has been a terrible experience for her, she has lost so much weight due to food sensitivity which leaves her in crippling pain. She has to have oxygen three times a day. But then she chats to my daughter about dancing , and boys and I think for a short pocket of time she is interacting with another teenager and there is absolute normality back again. We love her. I really hope she will be better soon. I think her parents are now totally penniless and beside themselves with worry.

People get old....

Sometimes it is hard not to see my parents as they were.
But I also have to face the fact that they are tired, and getting older.
My mum is frailer and there are moments when she looks her 83 years, and needs to
rest (which of course she doesn't) and my dad has to do more and more, and he gets tired. One day they won't be here and I will find that incredibly hard. I will miss the wit and charm of them. Their minds are razor sharp. They discuss world affairs with more intelligence and wisdom than people half their age- being journalists it is hard-wired into them. We have a good relationship. It has been hard won and we like each other. My friends find it unbelievable that I can spend two whole weeks with them whenever I can. They find it hard to spend more than a few hours with their parents. I think it is because my parents are so good at being on their own. They like being independent even of each other, and then coming together for meals with bits of news to share. Like birds bringing bits of nesting back to their home.

So I am lucky. Very lucky, and I know that luck runs out. And so I am mindful of every minute I can spend here and bask in their comfortable toing and froings.

cy twombly

Have just seen something that has reminded me of Cy Twombly.
Why oh why do I love his work? It bypasses rational thought and his work gets straight to my heart.

My lover raises his eyes to heaven whenever I mention this. He has no idea why a set of scribbles can make me weep with joy.
But they do. He pierces my soul. I am going to get over to the Tate Modern and see him the moment I am back from my holiday.

time to go

Now is the time to hit the road.
The bags are packed, the cats sorted. Tomorrow we go. We go to a place where we can walk along the beach, swim in the pool, eat fresh food, and feel for a few days time slow to the speed it should be lived at. I shall read voraciously. I shall go to the beach in the morning armed with my Guardian crossword, order a cappuccino and marvel at the sunlight on the water.
Today, I kissed my lover goodbye. I shall miss him and enjoy the exquisite pain of missing someone who is still in my life after two years. But I shall also enjoy my freedom. My chance to edit the novel and the play and spend time with my daughter. I can hardly wait.

A few sunny days does wonders

I don't know who said this, I can't remember because , I am feared my brain really is shrinking.....

if you want to be happy for a few hours.... get drunk
If you want to be happy for a few months......fall in love
If you want to be happy for a few years....get married
If you want to be happy forever get a garden.

ah so true.....

Brain attack

My mind is buzzing. Just had two days with therapists who want to be supervisors.

Nice to be in a group again, but also nice to be back home being ordinary and in the world of asking my
daughter what she wants for dinner.

Ordinary, normal, no big searching questions that make me feel space-y.

I notice when I am in these groups I tend to have moments when I just have to lighten up or make someone laugh by being outrageous, or the opposite of 'empathic therapist' . I want to laugh!!! Let me just be ordinary. And I also know that I am looking for fun in therapy.

It reminds me of Laing's session with a depressive client and how he spent the whole hour telling jokes outraging the client (who had laughed uproariously for the whole time) who felt Laing had not done therapy or earned his money. And Laing's view that he thought he had by providing a window where the client had had a different experience. Or something.

Now I could pick this apart. Just as it would be picked apart in a therapy group as possibly not being empathic to the client bla bla bla, but I also feel - Yes, sometimes too much empathy of the wrong sort, the formulaic sort is also not helpful. And that Laing was actually trying to do something much deeper than telling jokes, by pointing out something about the client's self importance and in his wanting to hold on to his depressive state.

Oh god. See the effect of being in a therapy group. I feel as though I have just disappeared up my own backside. I need to go back to washing the potatoes for dinner again. And changing into my pyjamas and sitting down to watch some drivel on the box. I want my head to stop peeling back layers of meaning and finding more layers of meaning. I want to hear my lover say. Isn't that just stating the bleedin obvious!!! Oh to be back to the bleedin obvious.

Brain attack

My mind is buzzing. Just had two days with therapists who want to be supervisors.

Nice to be in a group again, but also nice to be back home being ordinary and in the world of asking my
daughter what she wants for dinner.

Ordinary, normal, no big searching questions that make me feel space-y.

I notice when I am in these groups I tend to have moments when I just have to lighten up or make someone laugh by being outrageous, or the opposite of 'empathic therapist' . I want to laugh!!! Let me just be ordinary. And I also know that I am looking for fun in therapy.

It reminds me of Laing's session with a depressive client and how he spent the whole hour telling jokes outraging the client (who had laughed uproariously for the whole time) who felt Laing had not done therapy or earned his money. And Laing's view that he thought he had by providing a window where the client had had a different experience. Or something.

Now I could pick this apart. Just as it would be picked apart in a therapy group as possibly not being empathic to the client bla bla bla, but I also feel - Yes, sometimes too much empathy of the wrong sort, the formulaic sort is also not helpful. And that Laing was actually trying to do something much deeper than telling jokes, by pointing out something about the client's self importance and in his wanting to hold on to his depressive state.

Oh god. See the effect of being in a therapy group. I feel as though I have just disappeared up my own backside. I need to go back to washing the potatoes for dinner again. And changing into my pyjamas and sitting down to watch some drivel on the box. I want my head to stop peeling back layers of meaning and finding more layers of meaning. I want to hear my lover say. Isn't that just stating the bleedin obvious!!! Oh to be back to the bleedin obvious.

supervision

I am appalled to learn from a friend who is a chaplain in a hospital that she has no supervision.
She lives alone, and deals with such things as having to arrange burials for dead babies for people who don't speak english, arranging to wrap the poor 26 week old foetus and deal tenderly with the hysterical parents with the aid of an interpreter (dangerous at these times when the words you choose are so important) and then to deal with a suicide the next day. Where does she debrief? She needs to talk about these things. Luckily she opened up to me last night, because she knows I am a therapist, but she felt until then unable to call up a friend just to talk and be heard. She needs supervision. Especially as she lives alone and these things build up in the psyche and need clearing out. This sort of thing really upsets me. Do people who should know better really not understand the importance of support in these situations>

a mark

Today he bit my shoulder and left a mark.
It comes after his fear about my friendship with another man.
He withdrew for a day until he realised he was being ridiculous.
I said "you are doing things in your head, don't , it is all rubbish".
And so after a few days of being jealous he comes back to me.
Love refreshed by seeing the possibility of it's ending- for he is
tied to his family and I am free, except for the fact I love him.
And so for the first time in two years he marks me at the neck.
A sign . Please don't leave. Please don't forget me.
Doesn't he know that the mark he leaves on me runs deeper than
skin deep?

Easter time or White Christmas

Best we switch Christmas and Easter methinks.
The snow we had on Sunday was three or four inches thick. Looked beautiful, didn't ice up the roads, or turn to slush and was gone by the evening. Perfect. It didn't affect travel in anyway, or cause anyone injury. It provided a wonderful few hours of snowball fighting and was so well-planned it arrived on a weekend with time to enjoy it and disappeared before the adults started cursing.

First Draft nearly finished

It is with great delight I report that the first draft of what I laughingly call my novel is coming to a close.
I hope I will hit the deadline of the end of the month. The finish line is in sight. Then I shall put it aside and
look at it again in a month.

I have found the finish the most difficult part. As in everything it seems. I cannot bring myself to finish with my
lover, even though it would be the sensible option. His wife is now monitoring him - has given him a contract phone
so she can keep tabs on his calls, and stays home to work, most days. I am not making this easy for anyone by staying,
but as I said before endings are difficult.My natural inclination is to give my novel a happy ending, but life isn't like
that, is it? There are messy bits, bits that don't work, people left incomplete or dissatisfied. One of my characters who has
been having an affair is realising how important his wife is to him. It's true. I think it is true in my case too. She is the
important one, I am merely a distraction. That doesn't pain me at all. It is as it should be. But in the novel, I think the turn around
is too quick. Usually men leave, then realise the horror of having changed one bad situation for another, and limping return to their wives. My character seems to be cleverer than that, and realising sooner than most men would. I have to think on this a bit more.

Also have just read a really interesting book. It's called the Raw Shark Texts by Steven Hall. Very original, and a real
page turner.

Driving at night. Drips down the window

Have just managed to get up to speed. The 5000 words that I lost on the PC when I was away are now written, though not as well as they were the last time. I guess I expected that. I was writing in my stride when I was away, and the words had power and authenticity. I was feeling proud of them, at last. And then, don't they say, pride comes before a fall , and they were taken from me. The words that are in their place now are clunky and weak. But they must do until the second draft at least.

I sat and looked out the window today at the rain, and my cat sat next to me looking out of the window. The two of us, doing nothing but feeling cat like and at peace. I could not get on with anything today. I gave into it, watching the drips on the window and remembering car journeys at night lying on the back seat, listening to the drama on Radio four while my parents drove me home. What a perfect time it was.

truth or untruth

Have just finished reading Essays In Love by Alain de Botton , and this Neitzche quote struck me- in the light of having an affair with a married man.

"What in us really wants truth...we ask the value of this...why not rather untruth? And uncertainty? Even ignorance?
The falseness of a judgement is not necessarily an objection to it.. the question is to what extent it is life-advancing; and our fundamental tendency is to assert that the falsest judgements.. are the most indispensable to us... that to renounce false judgements would be to renounce life, would be to deny life."

Alain de Botton links this to love, and says " Lovers should prefer the risk of being wrong and in love to being in doubt and without love."

I question whether he loves me or doesn't. Based on all the wisdom of the world he would prove love by leaving his wife, even if that is not what I actually want him to do. So perhaps he doesn't love me all that much, and does it matter? Is it life affirming for me to have this 'false' love with him or is it life-affirming to give him up. For me the answer is easy. It is life affirming. And am I so sure that the fact of his leaving his wife means something more than what we do have. Is there any easy truth in any of this, and is that important anyway.

Things to mull on.
At present he is at home, under house arrest for failing to delete my number when he last called. His lie of having to call me to stop me hassling him and giving him grief was only half believed. It will possibly be a long time before I next see him.

But still it is better having him in my life than not, even if I don't see him. I know he is there.