Here I am: sitting in Beaconsfield café, having borrowed Manbear’s noise-cancelling earphones, trying to write. About to write. Almost writing.
Finishing coffee and my half of weird-but-tasty rose-nut cake. Looking around for Cat (actual name) whom I met on my previous visit. About to set the timer for a chunk of twenty, so that I can kid myself that twenty minutes is all the writing I’ll do. So that I can start.
Previous visit when I met Cat (actual name).
It’s been a rough couple of weeks. As I mentioned in the previous post, I massively overscheduled, and my dayjob (working with autistic children) wound up being very stressful as well; the heat didn’t help. I finished my work week in tears on Thursday, hanging out in Primark with a wonderful if long-suffering friend. I spent Friday getting it together a.k.a. going to a massage and swimming class and not doing a blessed thing otherwise. I spent yesterday lying on a blanket in the park, being handfed and handfeeding Manbear olives. And here is today.
Today I woke up anxious. Today I was able to meditate (!). Today I slowed down enough to get stuff done and not be angry with myself. Today I cleaned up a bit, because mess stresses me out. Today I forgave myself and stopped striving for insane speed. Today is today, and I’m still sitting in Beaconsfield cafe, with vague echoes of reggae hidden by noise-cancelling earphones.
Today I’m writing my play. Today I’ve shown up for myself. Today is a moment in time. And I’m feeling love.
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