Just Spinning...

And I hate that. I am not one for fast rides, dizzy heights or things with wheels, blades, wings, or floaties. You get the picture, right? Don't get me wrong. I am not a control freak by any stretch of my imagination or yours. I simply know my limitations and areas of challenge. And although I have balance, I have reduced confidence with things that are strapped to me or my feet. And past experience tells me with real life scars and stories yet to be written that I am best trying to cope with whatever life chucks at me with my own two feet. And while I am here setting the scene, you may as well know that with a head like mine that seems to be becoming more annoyingly crammed full each day, I don't need any additional help with becoming disorientated, I got it covered. And when I get really ramped up, well I become headily-giddy in my own merry way.

So, Just Spinning? Yes. That is how I feel right about now. Like an old fashioned wooden spinning top that seemed to be connected and useful but within seconds is just going round and round in a precarious fashion as others lose interest. Or similarly, a coin that hasn't quite stopped its revolution and is at that awkward stage just before you know it's going to fall flat. And that will be that. No odds. Game over. Sure, I could bump off the sides of experiences like a pinball but I am not. I just seem to be stuck going round and round.

And the reasons? Well, there will be many. And of the many, there will be some that probably make sense to some pseudo-psychy type out there. And quite frankly, I don't really care right now about the why. I am more focused on the what to do about it. Pause. Even I stopped right here as I typed this and had to smile; okay there may have been a little snort. Me looking at an outcome rather than the process? Seriously? I guess when I think of spinning, I consider how long it's going to last and what it will take to interrupt the seemingly unending rotation, without resulting in hollow sounding slaps at the end of it all as I come to some kind of resting point. Am I the only one who feels like this? Just lost and going stir crazy as I consider options and what the hells? Probably not; I am not that special.

I couldn't even bring myself here to Charlotte Sometimes to air and share. I was just too wound up. I guess at some point I've got all grown up and stuff because even I recognised where I was headed. Gee, I even identified it was a case of having a glass of wine at 4pm, heading to bed to hibernate or just throwing myself full pelt out into the lashings of wintery rain. And in no particular order. And I don't know what I want to do about it. Or what I want others to do or to say or even what I want you to know about it. It just feels crap. That's all. And yes - GROAN - I know that it is JUST SPINNING and it will stop eventually but I am over it; whatever it is. I just want to get back to the middle ground, the firmer feel of life familiar and have a sense of purpose that keeps driving me forward. Yep. That's probably it.

Don't get me wrong. I have so much happening that is good. Great, in fact. But there is this great whopping BUT stuck like a bold faced, bare-cheeked thing in my way (hey, maybe it is a BUTT). And I am kinda over it enough to not even want to go round it, through it or over it. I just want it gone. But what that means or what it it looks like, who the hell knows? Not me.

Aimless? Maybe. Pointless or directionless? Possibly. Are they the same? I know at least one person who would be more than happy to have me pinned up against a bar somewhere, challenging me to use them in a sentence and unpick the finer coatings of wordplay, one fondly played fibre at a time. But just spinning? Hey, let's just call it a lexiconical gap and I am happy to receive comment at the end of rambling rumination with better choice words. Challenge set.

Back to it. Right. Well, hibernating is only really a short term thing, wine is not so much fun when you are on your own and the thought of whips and lacerations from icy rain and crazy curling wet hair just didn't resonate somehow. So faff it was. A bit of this and a bit of that. And with that faff was a curious calling to check through months past and see if I had made any similar revelations about feeling a bit on a wonk in my world.
And after some rummaging through reams of words, this is what I found:

I am decidedly in a different headspace. Cannot quite fathom it but it is something akin to a vision that I hold of myself as I wobble madly mid-road on a rusty old bike; not quite steady (serious understatement right there) and likely to veer off in any direction at any given moment, without any warning whatsoever. It could be CABIN FEVER. Ah, that is most likely. It is 11:20pm and I somehow didn’t even get my coat off for 4 hours after coming in from work. I found myself still fiddling around in the office, in all of my usual work-clothey type gear come 8 o’clock. Then I considered a WALK but the rain was still hanging about. So, I am probably - by now - well and truly past my I-really-am-in-the-need-of-fresh-air-and-a-release… Hence, the clearing of the freezer - I have three large plastic bags of food stuffs that look dangerously like meats that have been encapsulated in some weird frozen twisted Disney-esque manner. SUSPICIOUS nonetheless. And now these foreign dead bodies are 10 kilos of -oh-jeez-they-may-defrost-before-Wednesday in my wheelie bin. This cleansing (well, cannot really call it that.. more like ice-pickachipping) of the freezer led me to find frozen bread, that then became toast - and that is where your marmalade came into the frame. I am clad in my first class pyjamas…FUNNY that (this is a reference to a blog that is yet to unfold of Timely Tales of Travels, btw). And who would have thought they would make a cameo role in your second blog?! Nice one. And ready to continue my quest to totally turn the house upside down just so that I can tidy away my office. FRENETIC energy. Now, you could tell me all about that; the whys and wherefores etc etc but all I know is what it feels like. Bloody annoying. So I am using the toast as a distraction and a vehicle to finally get rid of the Bertolli Olive Light Spread that has been kicking around the ‘fridge for far too long. I have been in what was my daughter's old room. Now that I have realised that she ain’t coming back, it is time to reclaim the space. Easier said than done. I have just spent the better part of 34 minutes trying to preserve the blu-tac with which she has lovingly adorned all four YELLOW walls. I have permission to chuck out what I feel I can. All so I can then move my own crap in there so that the PAINTING can commence. Whoop!!  

And I guess it made the spinning silent and secondary just for a fleeting moment. And it sure as hell made me smile as I read my old words that seem fresh and spirited somehow.

I like the thought of me 'wobbling madly mid-road on a rusty old bike…. likely to veer off in any direction at any given moment.' It makes sense to me. It means something to me. I can connect to it. Picture it. Feel it. And there is this utterly undeniable sense of sheer 'what the hell-iness' that makes me want to say 'F'ck it,' this is not where I want to be. And I just want to be ballsy enough to make that decision. To stop the spinning. Shit yeah. I just want to grab that rusty old bike and pedal madly and ungainly down the middle of the boring old road, hair trailing behind me in the wind (well, I don't think I would be that fast actually) with the stupidest grin on my face.

Or second best thing? Take that bloody coin between my own fingers and spin it. Heads or Tails. It is a 50-50 chance. Seriously. How bad could it be?

But I am trepidatious and that leaves me Just Spinning…

You'll Be There Waiting...

And it feels like the other side of the world.

Try as I might, I can't  hang on to the norms and the every day that came here before. I wish it was simple. I am close enough to see that it is not. I am the other side of the world to you. We sit; we chat but I am not really here. I am glad of the distraction, yes. You do this well. Keep the steady tempo of everyday life but still there is the gaping chasm that whispers between us somewhere.  I want it gone. Rid. Discarded as something that doesn't belong. Not here. The little demon that somehow has nestled its place firmly between us; an unwanted child.

Clicking seconds on the silent watch snake systematically, poignantly poised on each quarter hour. A time like this and I don't want to wait. On the precipice of something or nothing. Something that reminds me of my inner child that is now heavily disfigured by control and the automated  muted emotion of an adult mind. Where I sit as a foreign visitor across the desk from the person who speaks a different language to me. I may well recoil; retreat to a safe familiar place. And that is okay. Blurred black and white images blinking anonymously on a screen. All this contribute to the outer body experience. Hard to connect. Hard to feel. 

All the time, there is a warm, steady weight on my left knee. You. Here. Connected. And I can't help but not look your way. Too focused on staying in auto-drive, controlled and ready to file the information in a well-used cabinet that has entries pretty much from A through to T. But I know you are here. And I am talking to you in my head, letting you know that whatever comes next, I will be all right. You may not be. And maybe the Us that we have both easily become won't be feeling all right either. I don't know. And all the while, I am wondering what you may be thinking or feeling right now. And I feel like I am on the other side of the world somehow. Trying to work out which way should be up. Me or you? What is the best right here? If I had any control, what would I choose? I know the answers I think, but as all of these thoughts and voices clump together tangling around my kicking legs like wet, slippery seaweed, I bob back up to the surface. 

Gasping for air after a long dive, I re-emerge eyes blinking. Yes. There it is. A simple white blob. Nothing to get excited about. Right, excited? Interesting choice of word. Excitement to me is more akin to running through the rain, taking a sickie from work and sipping on a cocktail, finding a well hidden chocolate, and a lovingly scribbled post-it note.  Anything that is not this little demon. But I go with it. Nod and ask questions. And then there is nothing but silence and a faint scuff of a ballpoint pen travelling across the doctor's pad. Done. Nothing else? This was it? 

I turn. You have sat stock still with one hand clamped against your closed lips. I hear me asking you if you have anything that you want to ask. You look back at me. It is you but you are not the same. Distant somehow yet near. Two years to wait somehow became three. And that is good, I suppose. All we need to do now is watch and monitor. A thing that may or may not be anything more than a pathetic white blob. I know what you are thinking right now. What to watch for and if I had my wit and humour on hand, I would have scolded you with a twinkle in my eye; there will be no database. Ever. Not for this. I am not going to recorded,  measured or form any sort of insightful trend. No. I will know. And you will too, I think. 

And just like that, we are out. Account settled and heading out to walk down the street where we had agreed to meet before 'the thing.' But we both stop. And there it is. You coming back to me from your protective hiding place behind your eyes. That half-smile, sort of shrug and the faintest quiver from your mouth down to your chin. I am here for you, as you are here for me. I know; it's hard. It could have hurt so much more, and I think that the tide of what you may not have chosen to feel just flowed over somehow, right there as we stood rooted to the fading patch of hospital carpet. Many others may have come through that door and have done so before us, but they may not be the lucky ones. Not like us.  And without hesitation, we are locked inside that hug. The one that makes the world fade into insignificance around us. A physical and emotional embrace that speaks so many unspoken words that wrap around you and me. 

With the last squeeze shared, we are out through the doors and down the street. And yes, it didn't take long I can say with a wide smile; hands held, arms swinging, talk of benchmarking things and thingies... 

Let's see shall we? This will slide into the background of Us you know, but I will not let it get away or take over. You may just have misread my signs. I don't do denial. I have got this and sure, I am never going to be rushing in to go through all of this again, but I will. 

But for now, I am happy to be sampling a drop of this 2011 Cabernet Merlot with you, enjoying the swirling wash of burgundy bursting across my taste buds... 

Let's keep this Little Demon in a bottle
with its lid tightly screwed.