'And I was feeding on the need for you to know me, devastated at the rate you fell below me.'
In times of hardship, I turn to Fiona Apple, to Donna Tartt, Gwendoline Burns, to the strongly artistic, creative women I admire. Women who explore and express their own hardships in their art.
Reading back, it's always on a MONDAY that I quote songlines which grate my emotions raw, wring them out, stretch them over my body, wear them as clothes, my beating heart transparent beneath.
It's always on a Monday that I make my plans to run away, Pack my knapsack, knot a red spotted handkerchief and sling it glibly over my shoulder, meeting the eye of no one as i slink off to a new life where no one knows me and responsibility is something you can shrug off like an itchy old jumper. Discard for the dogs to chew and scrap over. I want no part of it.
By Tuesday I'm reconciled to staying where I am, picking up the pieces, re-assembling, feeding on the great and the good. Wednesday improves with age, Thursday is positively industrious, Friday and the glow stretches from here to there, from me to you. A lifetime of temporary relief?
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A record of the way things sometimes are.
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