Stepping out of the door for a walk yesterday, drops of rain touched my face and I nearly turned back. With a sigh I tucked my camera under my coat and urged myself to just walk and breathe the fresh air, never mind the photos I wanted to take.
I was glad to have persisted as the rain soon stopped and there were splashes of sunshine among the puddles.
Bluebells glistened, with droplets reflecting greens and blues among the soft petals. The woods were quiet and soothing. My lungs filled with the essence of life, and the walk would have been worthwhile even if the camera had been left at home.
However it was there in my hand and the moments were captured with care, droplets surveyed and approached from angles. Joy felt as newly grown spring flowers were noted.
And a snail, untrodden, carried on his purposeful glide across the watery grass on to who knows where.
I have most of my thoughts while doing something else. Usually something that I should be concentrating on really. I have on occasion got out of the shower, lost in thought, only to discover I accidentally forgot to wash my hair (one of my main reasons for being in the shower to start with). Earlier I had a really interesting thought while making tea and coffee. I was staring out of the window at the rampaging ragwort, and stirring tea, and I had this thought, such an interesting thought. But then I was distracted by the hungry people in the house and lost track of the thought. It has since been irritating me beyond measure as I can’t remember what it was that I was thinking about. I’m pretty sure it was a really interesting and amusing thought, but no, it’s completely gone. My brain is vacant.
Ok, so I had an idea. I may have been slightly off the planet on tiredness and codeine, but it seemed like a good idea. The theory is that I blog on wordpress.com, but by the wonder of IFTTT my blog posts appear by magic on suzyblue.org.uk. So here I am, writing this and wondering if this was a good idea or if the codeine has messed with my ability to make sensible decisions. Ah well, if it turns out to be a silly idea, I’ll just turn off the IFTTT magic, and all will be as it was. So much pain the last couple of days means more codeine unfortunately.
I’m showering with the window open again, despite the chill.
It’s one of those summer mornings where the sun hasn’t got going yet. The kind of day that saw me as a child stood at a bus stop for a day out dressed in shorts and a jumper in a strange mix of optimism and realism. Cold legs shivering but with the desperate hope that later I’d be glad.
There’s a sheep staring at me while I shower, eyes meeting mine as I contemplate the brightness on the hill. Of course it probably can’t even see me – it’s eyes are looking across half a field and a garden to see me through the crack of a small window. But nonetheless it does seem to stare right at me.
Eyes closed while washing my hair I’m considering how far away the sheep is – perhaps a hundred yards? But I can’t visualise a yard. All I can think of is a little rhyme my dad must have taught me: “a metre measures three foot three, it’s longer than a yard you see”. Not really all that helpful as I can’t visualise a metre either.
Shampoo rinsed off I peer blearily at the window. The sheep has moved away and just a patch of blank hillside remains.
I am disproportionately disappointed.
I can’t write poetry. My brain is slightly addled by codeine as the pain was lingering long today. I’ve tried to assemble my thoughts but they keep running away. I am thinking of home, and how this was my home, my childhood home. Visiting is comfortable, like wearing old familiar clothes. Though things have changed round here, it’s somehow still the same, despite the extra houses and rearranged roads. I am sat here, comfortable, but my heart is elsewhere. A thread stretches out from here to there, where you are, and though I’m comfortable I feel its tug pulling at me. It’s just been a few days, but I miss you. Home is where you are. So I’ll enjoy the comfortable feeling here and the time spent with family, knowing soon I’ll be home with you. I’ll return to our little village, back from the big city, reaquaint myself with the frogs in the pond and the insects in the tall grass. And catch up with missed kisses and hold on tight.
So I moved all my blogs here, and now I’m doubting if it was a good idea. With my tired eyes staring blurrily at the screen, I sit and doubt. I doubt and sit. Stretch and wriggle my gammy leg, and doubt some more. I doubt myself and my ability to make good decisions. I doubt my ability to write or photograph or even exist. I miss the community back in the main wordpress.com fold. I miss the likes and the random arrivals who found me by accident in the reader. I miss the way it was. But change is good too. I have all my blogs in one place, I have full control over themes and CSS and everything! I am a web developer by trade, so this is good, this is very good, but was it the right decision? You there, you reading this, you were probably imported as a follower (I’m sorry I didn’t give you a choice in that) so do you like the change? Are you still there? Is anyone there? Did I do the right thing?
Sometimes when I think about the bees I get a twinge in my foot, right where I was stung. It twinged when I heard they’d come back, along with a shudder of fear right down my spine. Because that day, that day was the stuff of nightmares. Bees everywhere, a sting, and no sleep all. But they live with us now. We co-habit. We have the house. They have the soffits. I didn’t even know what a soffit was until they decided to live in it. Funny word, soffit. So there they are, unmovable, squatting in the soffit, and really, as it turns out, they’re not so bad. I still shower with the window open, bringing the countryside in despite their proximity in their soffit home. And sometime soon, when I think of the bees it will be with a smile not a twinge.
In the silence I think about the pain. I think about the days and days, so many days, since it wasn’t there. One day it wasn’t there, and then it was. And is. Still. Around about 300 days. 300 days of pain in varying amounts. Some ups. Some downs. But always pain to some degree. And there is nothing I can do. Take drugs. Do exercises. Hope. But there is nothing I can do to make it stop right now. There is no magic pill, no doctor will fix me (not bad enough to fix). Nothing I can do. Nothing. Is this who I am now? This person in pain? This person who has to find a ‘special’ chair in meetings because the posh chairs hurt? This person who limps along on bad days? Who moves uphill at snails pace, and wonky-walks back down again? Who takes more drugs than I would have ever imagined? Who is still in pain, despite them? And people offer sympathy (so gratefully received) and ideas of swimming and yoga and osteopaths. But what I need is healing of my heart. Adjustment of my mind. Not activities or manipulations (that cost too much). I need to cease this fruitless railing at the pain. Is that giving in, or just accepting the truth? 300 days of pain. 300 days of moaning. And wondering still, why me?
I am fond of bees. Correction, I was fond of bees. I like bees outside on plants and buzzing happily. I like taking photos of them about their business. I do not like them in my house, gathering in the windows and setting up home in my loft. I especially do not like them underfoot. I had never been stung before. I was a bee-sting virgin. Just that one false step and my foot descended on a sleepy bee resting on the carpet. The viscious pain caught me completely by surprise. For an instant I thought I’d simply stood on something sharp, but then it dawned as the pain spasmed through my instep. A bee. One little bee that I had failed to carefully and oh-so-gently remove from my house. A moment of sheer panic – it hurts it hurts it hurts – what do I do now? On hand a loved one with a phone to google … should I pull it out!? Yes yes yes! And then the waiting, will I react, will it stop hurting, what is going to happen? Fortunately not a lot. A lingering achey soreness, but no real damage. Apart from to my mental health … a night spent sleeplessly, anxious about bees underfoot, anxious about the possibility of a bee lingering in my daughter’s bed, her carpet, her slippers … And now I sit afar, lunch-breaking, and hoping that the news of the bees departure is the end of the story. No re-runs please.