Re-Entry

Fuck me, it’s been a long wintering.

I’ve written only two posts here since mid-November
my creative smarts have been tucked up in my bear-cave 
with me under a big blanket, snuffling, curling up in a ball 
and knitting while watching Traitors.

It’s been a time of shedding skins. 
And people. 
And identities. 
And waistlines.
And things.

I became an orphan a little less than a month ago 
and so am no longer anyone's favourite child.

The brand new Mini I bought in 2013 
at the height of my 7-figure-glam-lifestyle era 
has finally crunched its last gear change.
I fucking loved the roof-down-Greatest-Showman-tunes times in that car.
Its seats hold my best and worst memories with my daughter. 

My ten year old printer 
also gave up the ghost 
and my computer went BANG 
and that was the end of that. 

The cowshed, that has been here for hundreds of years
is crumbling; its rafters rotted through 
and soon it and my cut flower patch 
and the dog will both be gone.

It’s fucking brutal.
When does the midlife shit 
show end?
Fifty five,
I’ve been promised.
344 days to go.

I realised today I’m going to have to 
write my way through this. 
All this frustration and boredom and rage 
and wanting and not sure what I’m wanting. 
Trying to juggle meet ups with friends 
between my funeral arrangements 
and their radiotherapy ones
drowning under the pile of executor sadmin 
while burning the fish fingers writing poetry
and texting with one hand while cleaning up dog piss from the carpet. 
Again.

I notice how crap I am at endings. 
New starts are my thing and I desperately want one. 
I’m not waiting three hundred and fucking forty four days
this I know for a fact.

Painting is not helping
talking is not helping
Chat fucking GPT is not helping
with it’s constant suggestions 
of how to improve my life and get me back on track. 
Cocktails are helping….a bit.

The sun came out today
Jaysus I needed that little hit of warmth 
and joy.
It was only then I realised just how long 
my heart and soul have been living in the dark.

I can feel the glimmers of re-entry with that sunshine today. 
Bright brilliant ideas are appearing fleetingly at the doorway of the cave 
before vanishing into thin air before I can get out from under the covers 
and catch them.

Writing at least means I have to shuck off the blanket a little bit.
I might do that more.
Lamenting: a balm to the soul.