The sky has greyed like a kind, old man and opened itself so that pin-prick raindrops are landing on the window in front of me. Best friend visited, and we found an opportunity to dance every day. Then I went to Jersey, which is just the Island of Durban and danced some more. Now in London watching the rain make pretty patterns. My boyfriend has had the very niche and specific craving for Samphire lately. He kept talking about it in Jersey, “oh we absolutely must get Samphire when we get home” and I answered vaguely because Samphire is just made up of salty stringy tendrils. But, upon discovering the Tesco superstore for the very first time in the 5 years I have been visiting my dad’s flat, I bought some Samphire to surprise him. He was overjoyed and we had it with Sea Bass in pesto butter. It was very stringy and very salty, but I hear it might be a superfood, so that made it all worth it.
For my next act I will produce enough chicken soup to eat for the rest of my life because all the dancing has rendered me a bit sick and because it is the best way to procrastinate the ever depressing, disheartening, mortifying and humiliating job search. I am also procrastinating note taking on ‘fitness’ as that is the unit I have reached in my studies to become a Pilates teacher. The other issue with the fact that I have an exam to become a certified Pilates teacher in exactly one month today, is that I have not being doing very much Pilates at all. I have been dancing in Jersey and sourcing Samphire and making Chicken soup instead. Stumbled upon a writer, Mary Gaitskill, embarrassingly for the very first time whilst procrastinating in the bookshop and loved her book, “Bad Behaviour”. Also love the title.
This week I am meant to edit 15 500 words and turn them into a coherent, chronological 30 000 words. This is terrifying and that is why, for the better part of a month, I have not even considered starting to do it. Every time I hover my mouse near to the document titled “SSS Book” (an acronym), I circle that little blip on the screen like a nervous child about to ask to be another’s Valentine, and then I close my laptop. Or, more realistically, open the endless tabs of job-searching pages and read “7 years experience required” for minimum wage until my eyes start to feel like sponges left abandoned in a kitchen sink until they become dotted with black mould. I also read “Until August” last week, Marquez’ last book, which he wrote whilst trying to tread the waters of dementia and that was a sad thing to know while reading quite a lively and horny book. It was also satisfyingly short.
I am looking now, past the raindrops which have stopped as fast as they started and into the branches and leaves shaped like the Spades on a card, of a massive and glorious tree. This tree probably houses thousands or millions of tiny living things. If I were an owl, I would choose this specific tree to live in with its huge branches and luscious leaves, but the people who live here are planning on cutting it down. Also, governments are being burnt down and every country is Fucked and people keep dying in droves and I am concerning myself, today, with… this lovely tree.