Sunday, January 1, 2023

2023, Day One

It's like being underwater sometimes, submerged in Sickland, unable to surface into real life. Yesterday was okay, with energy, so I wondered if true to form, there'd be a backlash, and sure enough, today was dreadful, sore lungs, coughing, achey body and head, no desire to move. And the weather has been dark and wet - amazingly mild, 12 degrees - but too wet for walking. I've been outside once, briefly, in the last days. My legs twitch in bed at night because I've moved them so little.

But I'm not in hospital. 

It's January 1 2023. 

Robin asked if I was going to make resolutions, and I said, no, I'm perfect. And he said, I am too.

But I like Bob Rae's resolutions on Twitter, so I will try to keep his. Obviously, when I'm better. 

40 minutes exercise, 40 minutes extra reading, 40 minutes extra writing (extra meaning non work non social media) and piano every day. More conscious listening and acts of kindness. Try not to be boring about any of these.

Ruth brought me a quiche and a croissant, and Robin bought some nuts and berries. Thank you, foraging friends.

In the meantime, I do have to report that astoundingly, despite aching head and twitchy body, I've been working. A new, better title for the essay book just came to me, and I've written a new preface and have compiled five or six possible new entries for it. 

It's thrilling, to feel my writing self as a kind of machine that, once kicked into motion, can keep going, no matter what. We'll see if any of this matters to the final manuscript. I'm very attached to so many of these essays, and I do think people will enjoy reading them. But we know, no one reads these days.

Except Bob Rae.

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