Luxury

Mmmm, my idea of luxury is a long hot bath with candles listening to VAST. I find it kinda weird that it was Cornish Bloke who introduced me to VAST when it was the Jellicle Cat who introduced him. I do find that listening to the self-titled album puts me right into the sort of creative mood I was in in his place. Painting, writing and talking about everything. Listened to it with Mother-In-Law on Wednesday, it was good. Can’t decide which my favourite track is, thought it was Pretty When You Cry but it may well be Touched, though You is good too.

I seem to have regained a sense of centre that I had lost, maybe for longer than I realised. It’s taken a long time and I can’t seem to do things like re-centre with other people. People like Spike have me in awe of the candid nature of their online journals and the details with which they recount what they’re dealing with. Me, I talk, but about different things to different people. Sometimes I don’t talk, some people ground me simply by dint of being in the same room as me, sharing a silence. Mainly though, it’s me thinking and writing and thinking and just going over and over and through until I’m where I need to be.
It says something that I’m quite looking forward to the trip back to Royston next weekend, and the sense of trepidation, although there, is muted. I can deal with this. I have a piecce of rose quartz to take with me, but more than that, whatever they may call me there, I am a Mish.

It’s only really hit me this last year that the price for being a Mish is to be a Mish, but the dividend – that of being a Mish is so totally worth it (to steal a well worn phrase) that I feel as if I can face everything that the world has to throw at me again.

It’s been a funny weekend emotionally. I’m glad I seem to have regained my balance as far as that goes. I woke up ecstatic on Saturday and had to share it with the rest of the world (hence the singing over the phone to everyone) according to the Ex-Gardnerian it takes me about fifteen minutes to work through fifteen letters of the alphabet… I was over at my Gentleman Friend’s place for Yellow Sign joy for much of the day on Saturday with Manly Viking. My energy levels were all over the place. I ended up going home for a nap, which culminated in my vegging in front of Doctor Who and going down to the Bobbin to wish Wrong Mike well in his new Manchester life. The Blue Cat and Mother-In-Law almost persuaded me that dancing until dawn in the Lounge would be a good idea up until the point where sleep demanded that I go home. I apparently missed a very good symbl at my Gentleman Friend’s place – I shall just have to wait until Midsummer for that pleasure.

FJ and Princess Lex came over today for a long planned Sunday Roast, what did we roast? Oh nothing so mundane as chicken, no, really, we ate headcrab. No, really. (A headcrab would be some alien evil in some computer game or other.) The Jellicle, Lexy and I went over to Redwood Garden Centre leaving FJ to be artistic. We came back to face something with mandibles in the oven. Then we watched lesbians on the sofa.

Now I face the oncoming week, not with any sort of ‘rargh I’ll take what you throw’, but more a sort of plodding ‘I will get there. I will make this happen, what I will will be’. It’s lacking passion, but for now it’s got grounding and it will do very well for me.