A couple of weeks ago I wrote about grieving the loss of a life you’d imagined. The death of a story. My musings were the result of an interview I’d seen with musician / songwriter Missy Higgins who also talked about rewriting that story. She said however, that she realised that it wasn’t really something you had control over.
I pondered then also on the amount of control we have over our lives.
Monday was not only the 11th anniversary of my father’s passing but it was also ten years since I made my seachange. Ten years!!!
I feel as if most of my life has been spent in my state’s capital city, Brisbane, with some time in FNQ, Canberra and overseas. But in reality, I’d moved back to Brisbane from overseas in early 2002 so I’d only been there ten years. That time around anyway.*
I horrified many people by chopping my hair off the other night. I’ve been growing [it] for 3-4 years and only had a few trims over that time. It was getting unmanageable though. Initially I’d planned to book in for an appointment to get a few inches cut off… but then I saw a photo of myself (taken while I was in Melbourne a few weeks ago) and my hair looked terrible. Lank and lifeless.
I tried to make an appointment with my hairdresser but couldn’t get in for about three weeks. Of course rather than book that I left it and pondered. I’d feel too guilty to cheat on my hairdresser but IF I did it myself then… that’s hardly cheating is it?
I was scrolling away on Instagram this past week (as you do) and came across a snippet of an interview with Australian singer/songwriter Missy Higgins on ABCTV. Now – I HATE (hate hate) watching / listening to reels or videos or similar but can kinda bear something short if I can read the dialogue instead of having to listen.
And the title ABC had given the piece really hit home.
Grieving the loss of a life you imagined.
Given my lack of non-bookish blog posting I’m going to try to attempt random posts about stuff on my mind. I’ve mentioned before that I miss the old style blogging that was akin to a journal or keeping a diary. I realise it’s often of interest to no one but me, although I do dip in and out of others who blog daily (such as House Goes Home) and enjoy it. I often tend to jot ideas into my phone and never do anything with them. Or I start a blog post but realise either: I can’t sustain a whole post on such an inconsequential subject; and/or my topic is entirely pointless or of no interest to anyone other than me.
But… I need to get back into the habit of writing, so here I go…
My blogging buddy Denyse Whelan relaunched a link up this week and I said I’d participate. Then of course I decided I had nothing to write about even though I have a gazillion blog posts in my drafts folder. About everything from ‘being in denial about ageing’ to whether or not one has breakfast on waking, or after waiting for a while. (Yes, riveting stuff!)
I’d decided just to skip this one but… was awake very early today and really didn’t want to start work at stupid o’clock so decided I’d share a ‘life lately’ or check-in post. About everything and nothing. At the same time.
I spent a couple of weekdays at my mother’s last week. I haven’t worked much from her place since starting my full-time gig as she didn’t really have reliable wifi until a few months ago. And since then I’ve mostly been there on weekends or on brief overnight visits.
But for various reasons I decided on having a couple of full days at her place. We bought a new desk for her spare room last year, so it’s not like I’m hogging her dining table or we’re in each other’s way.
There’s a quote by Annie Dillard that goes, ‘How we spend our days is of course how we spend our lives.’
It popped into my head this morning. Or at least a related version around how I ‘spend’ my time. (Or not as it happens!)
Unfortunately I wasn’t feeling philosophical. Rather I was wandering aimlessly around my house wondering what I could, or should, be doing (other than eating).
It occurred to me that I’ve forgotten how I spend my time. Or I’ve forgotten how TO spend time.
Facebook reminded me this morning that – on this day last year – I wrote an almost upbeat post after what felt like months (years) of wallowing.
I’ve been thinking lately about the small things that make me happy – getting my house cleaned last week (ie. having a clean house), having my lawn freshly-mown, relief I work-from-home and don’t need to travel to work in this constant rain. Not to mention the relief (that) I have a job.
Today I decided I’m ‘halfway happy’ and have been pondering whether they outweigh the negative stuff. For me at the moment it’s guilt over my lack of exercise, unhealthy dietary habits, general malaise when I should just be doing ‘more’.