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’.
I’ve recently spent almost three weeks on the other side of the country. Literally about as far as I could go from my Queensland coastline… traversing central and western Australia to the West Kimberley. It was a work trip of course. Someone was on leave and I’d been asked to help out in their absence.
I knew it was going to be a challenging time. The office was due to move and one of our projects was being transitioned to another organisation. Unfortunately it was even more tumultuous as the much-awaited move to nicer surroundings was cancelled. So… there were quite a few disappointments to manage while I was there. And a lot of (understandable) frustration.
The time away did however step me outside of my comfort zone a little and give me some time to reflect.
I was struck today by my own mortality. Well, kinda. It wasn’t as if I became ill or my life was threatened in any way.
We had a labour day public holiday in my state in Australia. I think it’s also called May Day. And I was reminded of being in Lisbon (Portugal), during May Day marches in 1995. I’d only recently arrived so still familiarising myself with the city, where I stayed for almost two months to study Portuguese.
I’d basically decided two weeks ago that I would indeed go to England in late July to attend the Old Peculier Crime Writers Festival. I decided it was a no-brainer. “Life’s short!” I told myself as I contemplated the idea of a 2-3 week holiday to look forward to. I sent an email to the organisers to book an accommodation package for the festival.
And then I checked some Covid-related insurance information. Read some fine-print. It seems not everything is covered and I pondered the likelihood of something unforeseen happening before then, or while I’m away.