The weather, not what I am doing right now. I am actually sitting on Gary's side of the bed. If I face the bed, the LHS is mine. The RHS is his. This is anywhere we go and we have been fortunate to travel quite a bit sharing big white soft linen hotel beds around the world. It was never a conversation or a discussion, we each had our side. And last night I slept on his side. I don't know if it has any meaning. I think too much, you might have noticed.
I went to see my psyche on Tuesday. Gary and I go once a month for marriage maintenance. People give me 'that look' when I tell them we go which I find quite odd as going when the shit has hit the fan is too late. But I digress, I told him I needed to go alone and even though he actually loves her and she loves him, (true story) he was delighted not to be shrunk by our shrink. In chatting to her I realize that being self-aware and having a theoretical knowledge of one's emotions is quite different to allowing myself to feel them. Analytical knowledge and feelings just don't line up regardless of how we make them fit.
I am going to write loads while I am here. I have been craving writing for ages, catching all these thoughts in my head and turning them into words in the hope I make a pattern and I can figure it all out a little. I love words. I am a word porn addict. We are a certain species us word porn people and we find beautifully written pieces or quotes on FB and irritate some by posting them and delight others. Vomit. Isn't that a good gross word. Not beautiful but it SOUNDS like vomit. Exquisite....you see. It sounds exquisite. And no, I am not stoned. I have always had this irrational fear of going to jail. Wearing an orange jumpsuit and eating awful food and having a lesbo girlfriend with a shaven head and numerous piercings. So I am packing for my Zanzibar trip and measuring out my daily meds including my medical cannabis which helps my clenchy jaw and I suddenly remember its not legal everywhere. Fortunately I checked as even though its 8 little low dose capsules, what if dogs sniffed my bags and they locked me up and I was on the cover of YOU magazine. So no, not stoned, just waffeling on. And I can you know because this is my holiday and the weather is so bad I have to hide in my room.
They gave me a stunning room but I think it might be too loud later as it is opposite the jetty bar. When they opened the door the storm was so fierce the lamp crashed off the side table and now I have a teeny prick in my foot so I think I stood on a little piece. Prick, another good word. So far in my zen time I have eaten, swam quite far in the pouring rain in the sea which I admit was a little scary fighting the current coming back, thought of what I need to think about, almost decided to think of my future job, and then decided to write some crap first before I do some real posts. I need to write about my studies. About my work. About Grief. Grief sounds like grief. Like you breathe out the end of the word. Ffffff.
OK, I am signing off. I know I have been a bad zenner so far but I it will take a few days before I can unwind. Zenner is not a good word. Shit, day 1 is almost over. Making yourself relax is like making yourself like a boy when you don't. Back in the day. Ah, a cocktail! That will work. Going to the bar in the storm. Cheers.
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