Saturday, 11 April 2015


Sleep eluded me, chased away by bizarre dreams of submarines rescued by planes, resulting in rafts in the sea, with a child slipping away.  I knew not the manner of this loss, nor even if it was permanent. The uncertainty nagged at me in my stupor - was it a sudden attack from the depths, or human error, or simply a cruel combination of circumstances?  Randomness, not reason or reality rule within our dreams.  I wake, seeking release from the saga, to break the cords of fear and fear of loss, but they keep returning, blundering their way into my mind, badgering me because of the incompleteness, refusing to be evicted.  I awake late, uncertain of the day or hour, resentful that I have been denied the sleep of renewal.  Coffee is the consolation prize, and I treasure the scant solace it provides.

The day advances, the sun shines brightly. I hear talk of rain, but the evidence has evaporated like the dew.  Remembering the days that have gone before, I take chairs outside, but overnight the wind has developed a bitter edge, reminding me that it is still only early April.

I prowl the house, agitatedly.  All around me is chaos. I need a task to occupy my mind, and absorb some of my inner restlessness. My husband is restoring order in the kitchen, completing the third and final coat upon the ceiling and walls.  This is no place to linger - I hide out in the conservatory, sifting through through abandoned bags of resources that have been exiled there. Boxing up that which is worthy of keeping, and dividing the rest between the sheep and the goats or recycling and rubbish as my husband would classify it.

By lunchtime the fridge freezer is marooned in the middle of the kitchen.  It will continue to inch its way across the kitchen, backwards and forwards, according to where access is needed.  This slow shuffle will continue until sunset, when it will return once more to its familiar roost, freshly embellished with the ubiquitous magnolia.

In the afternoon I paint all I can reach on the stairs, the lilac and lavender, like the yellow and the blue, transformed into 50 shades of cream, the actual shade dictated by the light levels and under layers. By evening even the ceiling has received attention.  I fetch in the chairs that no-one sat on. Another day has passed, and I hope that tonights sleep will be dreamless, and refreshing, setting the mood for a well earned day of rest.