So, source to estuary – my river of stones has flowed its course. Each pebble has been smoothed buffed and laid gently in its place. A trail of moments lived.
I have a room of my own – just as Virginia suggested. I look around my little cell. I love it because it’s mine, it’s me. I love the desk, the cupboard, the drawers, the pictures, paper and pens. This is the zone.
27 My back cramps, my left hip aches and my knees crackle. Fingers ache with arthritis. Once out of bed, I look in the mirror – my late mother appears to be looking back at me. How can this be? How did I get to be fifty-five? Inside I’m still in my thirties. I look at my reflection and smile – it’s not all bad this ageing thing – sure beats the alternative. And as I grow older, I can let my eccentricities and subversive streak rip and people will put up with it. I plan to grow very old, very disgracefully.
28 Saturday pause. I stop and breathe. Catch up with real life. Unwind and recharge. Each day has its own ‘feel’. Saturday feels good – a day of being in the present.
29 Sunday is a split personality sort of day. I like that it’s still the weekend – a lazy day –a looking back and forward day. But it’s always tinged with blue.