I think I’m at something of an impasse here.

Garden.

Humph!  Humph!

I said, in my last blog, that I always felt terrible in – I think it was – March.  (In fact, April is worse.)

And a blogger – he said – oh, surely just the moving over of the – blah, blah – sun or equinox or (insert your favourite flavour of knowledge) can’t change anything?

Well, have things your own way – through physics or meteorology or –

do have difficulties every year in March, and things get worse in April.

I don’t know how I get through.  I really don’t.

But I do.

So far, I have done.

But there are always surprises at this time of year.

Oh, there are different discourses, you know, different world-views – don’t get me started on all that.

But that guy, big-head though he was, was not even on the same page from which I had started!

Bleeugh!!

I’m always glad when Easter is over.  It’ll be Good Friday soon, and then the Saturday, and then the Easter Sunday, and then they usually drag it out over the Monday.

If I write about it now, as a kind of preview, I may be able to avoid writing about the actual one – say what happens, how I felt, how I survived.

I hate Easter.

I’m not really religious, as they say, but I’m not going to apologise for that.  Those who are scandalized can bog off – as they say.

I speak specifics here, specifics to me.

There is something jarring from some Easter-past, that I have forgotten now – it’s on the tip of my brain –

I know.  There are Easter eggs, the Easter . . . chicks – the ringing wedding bells . . . church bells –

can remember, actually.  I went out on my usual food-shopping spree, this morning, and by the time I was coming back on the bus, I was thinking – of course!  Why didn’t I remember that when I was writing about Easter?

It just goes to show that you do hide things from yourself.

But I have only the details that I have, and there are some that I think must belong – but I couldn’t swear to it.

Lame ending, but it will not always be so.

Yes – I am very sorry to hear of the burning of Notre-Dame.

 

Good thick porridge.

Cup of tea.

It’s four in the morning.

Don’t worry.  If I keep my cool, I’ll get through this.  The idea is to slow down to get to a point as close to standstill as is consistent with – living itself.

I mean, generally, at this time, not just over this night.

I have the practicalities – the shopping, the housework – those things you must do to keep on eating – and be able to continue making your way through the mire, to your back doorstep, and your garden – careful does it there – watch your bones.

And – most importantly – so you can make it upstairs to where your computer is – your work station, in effect, where you chip away, chip away, hoping that not too many trains come through.  (I have had nightmares about trains.)

There has been plenty of bright sunshine, showing up old cobwebs.

But – do a bit here, a bit there – piece things together – start at one end, but don’t stay there – as it suits you – as you can – as you must –

Mmm.

‘The Dave Clarke Five’ – ‘bits and pieces . . . bits and pieces’ – how did it go?

And I had the ‘pieces’ thing.

And the ‘bit’ thing.

I must have been thirteen when that came out – some age like that – my Maths isn’t so good – I was born in 1951.  Maybe I was fourteen.

Mam used to say ‘fourteen’ was a funny age.  I don’t know about that, myself, and I knew I was a kid, and yet I loved Dave Clarke.

Having thought of this, and put this together, in my mind, with other ‘bits and pieces’ discourses that I’ve been telling myself – it does matter –

It is another brick in that brick wall my therapist said I’d build.

No, no – I’ve got that wrong.  She said I would knock one down.

I’m pretty much not sure what to write next, so disrupted do I feel.

The insomnia, yes – but that was a three-pronged point of culmination.  I had a cold.  It was a worse cold than I’d had for some time.  Colds were doing the rounds.  It was a knock-out one where I’d go for a ‘little lie-down’ and – bang – I’d be away, sleeping for hours.  And then again – I’d go and lie down and – bang –

My lack of consciousness over this was weird – I didn’t seem to learn from past – recent – experience.  It was as though the cold itself took over – if I’d been out in the street I’d have dropped down –

No.  I exaggerate.

But it was a strong cold.

And I couldn’t eat!

I ‘made myself’ eat, but the spoonful of cauliflower cheese in the middle of a vast plate – it looked alien, as though it could never belong to me, never become a part of me.

Oh – all this only lasted in its ferocity for a few days – but it did put me out – and then there was a long recovery of a few weeks where a sore breathing tube extended its distress to my chest from which . . .

Sorry.  (Got to apologise.)  You probably feel sick with all this detail.

Maybe that was why, with all that sleeping over two or three days – yes, that, I see, saved to the other extreme – insomnia, full blown, for three nights running –

I’m making this up as I go along but I think it sounds plausible – maybe that was it.

I’m in the process of filling in my old pond in the garden.

There is a lack of soil but the two pot-ponds are almost in, and I have discovered, at the other end, a lined sunken bit that was going to be, I remember now, my bog garden.

That didn’t exactly work out all those years ago – which reminds me – I did have a candleabra-whatsit-whatsit there – looks like I’ve lost it.

You can’t harbour them all.

Anyway – there was compacted soil in that dread spot, which I have dug out, and put in some of the old-pond space.

I have many and varied pebbles from a (nearby) sands, which should not have been taken, but there was the cat then, and the fish in the water, and something of a barrier had to be made between the two – but I am getting into my history too much – that is already written – somewhere.  I need large coffers – no, that’s not quite it – chests – to keep my writing pages in – yes – I have it all on paper as well as on USB sticks and on the computer-proper – no, it’s a desktop –

 

Insomnia.  There is medication that I take for it (herbal) over there in that drawer.

I was going to say that I’m not going to take it, but I just have.  I’m sick of medicating myself, but that seems preferable to seeking anything stronger – oh, I am being so – ordinarily – sensible? – even thinking of that – look, words fail me because I am so tired.

No.  I’ve been through the whole gamut of sleeping tablets from the doctor – they give you those – ‘just-to-make-you-drowsy’ (they say it in a ‘comforting’ voice – there, there – you’ll be all better again soon . . .)

But this has been years that – I can’t think straight – I am so tired –

Doctors haven’t done so well with me with the sleeping-thing – and I prefer to find what I can elsewhere now – bricolage – an art of – what was it? – things found – herbal tablets found, as it were – in a health shop – in that – there’s a sense that – there is no guarantee with them, you see – there is something of a guarantee with the doctor-medication – it is officially endorsed – except that is worthless, that guarantee, as guarantees often are – with me, in this case – I don’t want to give my entire medical history, but I had that exquisite sense of misery – was it yesterday?

Which I batted aside – I can’t afford to let that linger.

I’m supposed to be looking after myself here – don’t you worry; I can do it – just need to empty anxieties on to this page.

But it changes everything, insomnia, you know.  This may be the third night running I have been awake – and if I wake enough to go downstairs and get the cup of tea (already done that), then it’s a couple of hours up.

Hello, birdies!  Yes.  Dawn chorus now – oh the wonders of nature – I’m too hot – window is open, but the birds sing so nicely just outside it.

Yes.  You don’t function the same if you have insomnia.  You can be going along in a certain direction.  Insomnia changes it.

I haven’t been troubled by it for ages – assurances now – I’m okay – I am – but you get that panicky feeling if you think you’re going to become stuck with this insomnia-thing again.

No.  I don’t want to tell you everything about it – I want some shreds of privacy.

There’s nothing else for it.  I’m aching – yes, I get the proverbial aches and pains.

Painkillers.  Whatever will knock me out.  Must sleep.

That’s another thing – I don’t give the whys and wherefores.  This is off the top of my head.

I have the feeling that it applies (not giving the whys and wherefores) to instances of my past, and that it has become, at least in relatively recent years (say the last twenty or so, particularly) something I can’t help doing, so keen have I become to express that past.

Recently (over the past couple of weeks, say – it is surprising how this ‘recent’ can expand and contract), I have developed a desire to show by example.  But I do believe I have been doing that all along, as my position of default.  I can try other ways, but they fall flat.

 

Another thing – all that wittering on I’ve done (I’ve been looking at ‘October 2014’) about not ‘fitting in’ to – preconceived boxes, basically.

It always comes about through my writing, this – and, at the time, I think there must be something wrong with me.

You have to fit with certain criteria or you don’t get on in the world (or in work).

But my writing is a special case.  No, I can’t fit it into what tutors on courses (some courses – most courses) would have me fit into.

They have no idea what they are asking of me.

They have not one clue.

 

But you see, I didn’t conform, Dad.

“You’ll conform,” Dad said.

But I didn’t conform.

 

. . . at least one frog – I have to cater for it as I can.

And so the pot-ponds are going to have to be buried, not put on top of the ground with water-plants in them, as I have envisaged.

And I’m considering getting another shed the same size as the one I’ve been stuck with (it is collapsing).  For absolute years I have been wanting a smaller shed, but I won’t be able to get everything in a smaller shed.

And the garden is as it is.

There is still nowhere to sit in the garden – I need to work in a bench somewhere . . .

 

I’m very suspicious.

If anyone had said I was very suspicious, I would have thought that was ridiculous.

And it probably would have been.  I think I have got more and more suspicious as I’ve got older.

I particularly don’t trust systems, and therefore people who go by them – work in them.

I can’t say, you see, that health-systems are not reliable – but I have come a cropper on more than one occasion with them.

But I gave that merely as an example.