July 2001
Crisis, age 40, London
July 20, 2001
It’s Friday, 8.05pm. On the tube. If it behooves me to write the minutiae of life at the moment, then so be it. From these small, seemingly inconsequential words shall be born a new future, new hope, better days. If, in time, they add to the structure of what may be, then so be it. For sure, they cannot detract. It seems an out is required, exits are needed and I must try and provide them howsoever they can be arranged, for I cannot live with continual thoughts pressing in on my head, squeezing away, insistent, demanding, demanding, demanding attention, threatening to explode like a tumour or a cancer dare I to ignore them. Small thought, big thoughts, malignant thoughts and pacifist thoughts, benign and cheery, wicked and wild and self-destructive. Today, recently, everything is demanding head room. Today, I struggle to hold on to myself as if I were a balloon in the wind and needed much anchoring in order to not float away on evil winds that promise me a big fat nothing. I seek remedies, answers, maybe even rescue. Some parts of me are so small, so small and indecisive. And frightened, too, I muse. And I am late , and does it matter. She, too, is bound to be late. But I wish the train would move. And oh, I’ve been despairing, and oh! I’ve been hounded, and oh, I do not know where is my safety. I do not seem to have the safety nets of others. I do not seem to have made the same provision as others. Is this my folly or merely my trust in the universe? I couldn’t tell you right at the moment, for I know nothing for sure, only that I must write, and I must sing and I must look upon beauty and know the sanctity of emotional states and art that arises from that. I’m going to see Barb, in “Girl Talk” at Pizza on the Park. Bye.
Crisis, age 40, London to Manchester
July 20, 2001
12.10pm. On the train, first class, going to Manchester. I caught the train by the skin of my teeth, pant, pant, and determined that I must stop putting myself through this unnecessary stress around missing transport. The train was at 11.55am and at ten to eleven I was at home, naked, completely unpacked, ambling round going, ‘oh, I’ve got loads of time’. Then I remembered I hadn’t even started packing. However, I’m here now. Well, my world has been rosier of late, thank god. I’ve had a really good week and have become much more optimistic. On Monday my inner life brightened up. I met Connie, which was confusing. She sat and told me detail about her holiday then asked me about mine, instead I started talking about where I was, what some of my inner fears had been, etc, all of which she refuted, which was frustrating and annoying. I was talking about me and my relationship, to my work, myself, my fears, and she kept telling me how wrong I was. In the end I just dropped it. On Tuesday she called me to ask how I’d felt about us meeting. It felt incredibly inappropriate-like she was asking me to take care of her emotions and I was trying to sort my life out and didn’t have space for it. She left the conversation frustrated and I just thought I can’t help her with this. She has obviously had expectations going on that I cannot meet with. Monday night-Patti Smith-yeehaw, fabulous. Hey, free food in first class and free drinks, fab. Anyway, Patti was great and I saw lots of my chums, which was great. Tuesday I spoke with Anne for two hours. 1.30pm. Bit later, stuffed I am. So, busy week. Tuesday I went to see Patti Smith again. Fab. fab, fab, fun, fun, fun. Then yesterday I was supposed to have a client but she cancelled me at the last minute so I did a bit of singing myself then went to see Michelle, which was nice. Laura and I went to eat at Mildred’s then on to see the Vagina Monologues, bumping into Cath S. en route. How fab. We arranged to see her after the show and met up with her where she remembered that Barry and R. were having a party in a pub. Fab. So we went there. And who was there? None other than C.M, whom I hadn’t seen for a good 17 years. He professed himself thrilled to see me and indeed appeared so, wanting to touch and hold me. Twice he told me he’d missed me. The first time I said, ‘no, you didn’t’, the second time I said OK. It was funny. All these years later, and we just had never seen each other. He asked my age and when I said 40, he said he wasn’t having that. He looks pretty good himself. He told me he drinks a lot. A lot. And indeed he got pretty wrecked. It was funny cos I think we both felt an urge to touch. We haven’t even met for years and he was thrilled to see me and I him. We probably only spent a short period of time together. Oh, god, it’s clouding over and I didn’t bring a jacket with me. Anyway, yesterday I also came to a different place within myself as regards Laura and I living together. I did a meditation and in essence surrendered to it and everything felt like it got a bit clearer, a bit easier. I phoned the solicitor and confirmed I can force a sale if I am not given the money. I’ve looked at some auction books for houses and I’ve realised that actually I want a house in which I can have a practice room and work from home. If I can get my money from the house, I can have the deposit and Laura can sort out the mortgage. We can make it work. And the different things we want from life we can just make sure we provide the space for the difference. We can but try, for god’s sake. Anyway, I felt a whole load of confusion lift once I’d come to that place. Surrender. And from there make a success of my life. You know, it doesn’t have to be forever. If it works, it works, if it doesn’t, then so be it. All we can do is try. Ha! And I recorded Patti Smith on my minidisc the other night and it’s fantastic. Ha! And the thing with my house is that it needs to be a winning situation after all these years, rather than it having been a victimizing thing. Turning things around!