I’ve been tense about this week. Tension = stress = no space in my brain = words don’t flow and I don’t write = unhappy! I realise I cant be properly happy these days unless I’m writing or having thoughts about what I want to write next – when the words just come to me and they have to be written. Stress puts well paid to that process. So in essence physical space – time – is needed for writing, but there’s the space inside – brain space if you will – that are both required for this process. I know I’ve said it just recently but I’m still so intrigued that my curiosity before I had either physical or head space to write, led me to create this space, and that writing is what came out.
I’ve been tense for good reasons and not so good reasons. The not so good – the next trip to Leeds this week I have to drive, in order to collect my belongings from my ex’s garage where they’ve been sitting for the past several months. Actually, the dynamics of this are very physical (actually moving the boxes – will 1 of me be enough to do this? Can I manage the heavy ones myself? Do I need to try and call in some help? Who will be around and not in work on a Friday morning to help me??) plus the emotional. Of course emotional – my boxes are the last thing left of me in that house. My ties to the place that was supposed to be my home, and arguably to the city get less and less.
As if to represent this recently my beloved piano met with a grizzly, firey end when it was declared un-tunable due to warping in the wood, and my ex took it apart and burned it in the back garden (carefully checking with me I hasten to add, and in the end, with my reluctant instruction to do so). I had that piano since I was 13, and took it to Leeds with the aim that, having more time, I would take up playing it again which I hadn’t for many years and had missed it. I did do this – not as much as I would have liked, but it held sentimental value in and of itself, as well as its destruction being another symbol of the life I dreamed of, and thought (hoped) was spreading out in front of me, not being available to me in reality.
I am slightly dreading seeing the remnants of not quite burned beautiful smooth light brown wood out in the back garden. Or the dents in the floor where the wheels used to sit.
My ex suggested – a wonderful idea – that he retain the beautiful mother of pearl design in the front of the piano, for me to perhaps frame and put on the wall of a new home. (One day I suppose I will be inspired to decorate a home again, I was really into this before but the nesting impulse seems to have long betrayed me).
Moving on to the good reason for slightly heightened stress – I believe they call it ‘eustress’ as opposed to ‘distress’! Basically, I booked a trip to Mexico!!! To learn to ‘abla Espanol’, but also to just get the fuck away. Go somewhere hot where it will be cold here, go somewhere where Christmas isn’t about me missing it with my ex’s family, but where it’s an amazing cultural experience for me to observe, learn about, enjoy and write home about. I understand the Catholic Christmas celebrations there are something to behold involving puppet making and parading across town. And to go somewhere I don’t have to be in London for NYE which for some reason just fills me with dread. Probably because I’ve hated most of them, they’ve been a disappointment or I’ve just been plain having a shit time and not looking forward to the year ahead. Well my perspectives have changed now, I don’t tolerate that anymore – I do now (wherever possible) what I think will make me happy; and planning exciting festive period adventures I think is the only way for me to do that this year!