Day sixI

dear diary,

Yesterday I broke my streak. Four days... I guess at this stage I can actually still call that impressive.

I hate living here. I hate living with people I can let down. I hate living with arguments... no, what I really hate is that the arguments don’t change and everyone in them is on the same side. Which I guess makes them less arguments and more group bitching sessions about the house (falling apart), the landlady (my mother), clumsy people (me)..

Fuck. I hate it. Except I don’t. I don’t really hate anything, it’s too much investment.

Day four

Hi!

Well, we finally finished sorting the boxes from the attic. I’ll edit this post in the morning to show the coolest finds.

You know, before I put the vastly reduced pile of crap back in the attic to be forgotten another ten years.

Em might have phoned it in a bit on the last couple of boxes but hey, it’s her stuff and we still have shed and garage to sort through.

Third ‘good day’ in a row has to be some kind of record. Maybe it’s keeping this blog, maybe not. My ‘new habit every day’ hasn’t quite taken off but at least I’m maintaining this one and walking pup more often. And writing! At least a page a day, it is amazing even if the writing itself is fairly meh.

Soon I hope to turn my hand to something worth reading.

My verbal or maybe gaslighting issues grow. I apparently had a totally different conversation last night to the one I thought I had, and today I said like and everyone heard deserve, which left me very confused and being told to shut up again...

Lily thinks I’m a moron who needs to shut up and follow instructions without trying to understand them, which kind of hurts though...

Day three

Another ‘good’ day with only a minor struggle to get started in the morning.

I also got a little writing done, which is a relief. It was only fanfic, but the important thing at this stage is to put words on paper rather than languishing in non creativity.

My head is full of thoughts but every time I try and put them here I hit micro sleep. Maybe tomorrow will bring me mor clarity.

Love, E. Eadgyth.

Day Two

Or possibly day three since blogger’s sense of time is apparently as screwy as mine.

Today was actually a good day. I got up on time ish, got all my chor s and jobs done except the one I needed to be online for and only had a f ew, non destructive clumsy moments.

No progress on the exercising front though yet.

...

[five hours later]

I fell asleep without hitting publish. Good job, E.

Starting over

Well.

Let’s see if I can make progress and work towards a stronger future together, ne?

My name is E. Eadgyth Cable, and I am a mess. Overweight, underpowered and with wings too short to take off without a jet assist.

Huh. Guess I’m a DeLorean. Less sexy though. I am going to try and do something about that.

Things are busy and I am poor, but I am going to make a damn effort to start one positive habit every day to work towards my mental heal habit per day to build my mental or physical health.

Wednesday the 15th of August; mental health habit: Daily journey blogs.

Wish me luck.

Morning Routine

When you wake up, it's to a quiet house. The few moments before everyone starts moving, beginning with you. Your Mistress is asleep. Her other pets haven't woken up yet – or have recently closed their eyes for the day.

You take a few moments to reflect before you open your eyes. You have a lot to do in the mornings, so it's not a long one. You touch the collar around your neck for a moment, silently thanking your Mistress for taking care of you. You will thank her later properly, let her know how much her hard work is appreciated, but this moment is for you.

There is work to be done. You groan softly as you stretch, then crawl out of bed. Putting the coffee on comes first. It's fine. You're still at peace. Clothes come next, and then the lead and treats. The dog is as happy as you are as you go for your morning walk. You and your friend, exploring together... far too early for anyone else to be around, so you can stay calm, relaxed, even when you have to call him back for wandering too far. It's still dark, this time of year, when you walk together.

You consider going on forever, just you and your Mistress' dog, to explore the world... but there is work to do at home, and a Mistress to serve and love. She needs you, too, after all, and for everything she gives you, you return it with affection and interest.

There are people moving as you return to the house. You have to wear it for a second as you pass them, the mask, but there's no chatter today. It's too cold to stand around. You smile in relief as you return home. There is time yet, before... there is time.

You have coffee. Breakfast. Feed the dog and feed the cats. You wake your Mistress, help her with her morning preparations. The time is drawing close when you'll have to put the mask on, and the stress starts to edge in... she can tell. She pulls you down onto her level, making you kneel, and strokes your hair gently. Reminds you that you're her Good Girl, her Kitten, and gives you a kiss.

You prepare her lunch and her snacks for the day, lined up in the fridge. You push away the reminder, you will not be here. You will be Someone Else.

She reminds you sharply of the time. You'll be late. You're dragging your feet. The day is looming, getting closer, getting heavier. You pause to touch your collar, and then... as with every morning, she calls you to her. You kneel before her, and she strokes your hair again... and then her hands go around your neck.

You hate this moment... every day, you hate this moment, and it's the only time you hate her as she unlocks your collar and pulls it away... she takes your face away, and suddenly you aren't hers any more. You have to be yours.

You put on your mask. It fits badly, even though it looks just like your face... but it's not you. Without your Mistress' collar, you're just playing a part.

The part of a rational, competent, outgoing human being. Maybe not the most likable person in the world, but you try. It's the you that 'everyone' knows, after all... and it is so tiring. You feel more trapped, more enslaved out here in the 'real' world than you ever do on your knees with a collar about your neck, a hand on your hair to reassure or to control...

“Annabel?” Your Mistress calls as you're about to leave, and you look back. “Knock 'em dead, Kitten.” You smile, the last real smile of the day until you get home, and lock the door behind you.

Review: Benjamin Zephaniah.

Photo by David Morris, used under Creative Commons

If one positive thing could be said about Benjamin Zephaniah, it's that he's passionate when reciting poetry.

Fortunately, I can say rather more than one positive thing. I encountered Zephaniah in my last year of primary school. His book, Talking Turkeys, was on a list of suggested book purchases with a coupon.

Zephaniah's poetry spoke to a childish part of me that was all too often quiet.

Fifteen years later, I find it still has the same power, especially read by the man himself. The Wrong Radio Station and What's That Got To Do With Me may be somewhat darker and more adult than the contents of Talking Turkeys (although I suspect I may simply understand them better), but they retain the same playfulness that makes you sit up and actually enjoy the poem.

It helps that Zepheniah is absolutely one of the youngest fifty-seven year olds I've ever met.

- Eadgyth Cable