So. Entry 50.

Not a lot to say today. I have very shaky hands, which I can’t explain. Listening to This Bitter Earth by Dinah Washington and relating to the lyrics.

‘This bitter earth
What fruit it bears
What good is love
That no one shares
And if my life is like the dust
That hides the glow of a rose
What good am I
Heaven only knows

This bitter Earth
Can it be so cold
Today you’re young
Too soon your old
But while a voice
Within me cries
I’m sure someone
May answer my call
And this bitter earth
May not be so bitter after all’

Had a good weekend (night) with my beau after my first kids’ writing workshop with Expanding Imaginations at work, which was lovely. Asked the children to contribute to a story I’m writing for my friend’s seven-month-old bump. Got some lovely responses and I’m looking forward to next week’s session.

Up and down very much still. Tramped round town the other day dressed as a pretty appalling superhero, Bathtime Bitch, (I only had towels and blue things to hand), and remembered why I don’t do fancy dress, or work with people. I am shy again. Drama didn’t change me, and I don’t feel I could go back to it now. I feel awkward again, I do things like run out of breath when I’m talking because I get so het-up about whether I’m being interesting or out of line or whatever. It happens more with some people than others. Some I probably want to impress, some I just don’t want to be around. I hate the sound of my own voice and lose my comfort in singing to myself and acting or reading aloud, things I love to do.

It honestly isn’t all downhill. Yesterday I was very level headed. I accepted that I had very little time with my boyfriend and still managed to enjoy it all, and keep him happy too. Sounds simple enough, but for me it was kind of a landmark. I don’t know if this is my success or ours. Hopefully it’s a sign of our strength and not just mine, I’d like to believe so. Who ever knows. Everything is up in the air. He still doesn’t know his plans for summer and the future, which leaves me hanging, but I’d be glad of the extra time in York with this group of wonderful people I’ve found, although I know it will probably do me no good to drag out the goodbye. I hate goodbyes. I love to think we can keep in touch as long as we want to, but you can’t do it alone, it has to be a two-way thing, and not everyone works the same way. People get disappointed, make assumptions, have their own things going on inside their heads. Things change constantly.

Anyway, enough moaning. I think this week has been pretty good. Everyone is lovely and beautiful as usual and I feel very looked after. I will be VERY sad to leave my current gang.

I got another government questionnaire in the post to fill out, asking about all sorts of personal experience, emotional trauma and other invasive questions. I know I’m seeking help but I really don’t want to put this stuff down on paper in little boxes. a) when I was fourteen, b) when I was fourteen, c) the kitten on the stairs, d) about my dad. It just feels so wrong.

I’m trying to plan a night of performance loosely themed on love, including readings of my stories, a friend’s poetry, another friend’s love letters and yet another friend’s amazing piano fingers. Looking good so far. I would say I’m excited, but I’m not really feeling anything at the moment apart from the pawing of a tiger at my back.


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