Funny how things connect. I've been planting runner and dwarf beans in trays for the village fair, with written instructions (lest I forget like I forgot the plum pie last night, pie crust's fattening anyway). As they nestled down into the Arthur Bowers the runner bean seeds looked like row upon row of tiny tortoises preparing to hibernate. I thought of Millie, our tortoise on speed who went walkabout in September and hasn't been seen since, and took a break from the hothouse to see if she'd emerged for a bask in the garden. I didn't find her but did come across a headless rabbit - the two I rescued from Delius later in the day were luckier. Country life, eh?
Whilst shell-hunting I heard the house phone ringing. It was Joanne from the office. It was good to talk to her as she can fully identify and empathise on the brain front. She knows that even though there's no plastercast, no blood, no sticking plaster, there's still a lot of mending going on. You just can't see it. Out of sight, out of mind. You see, you meet people or they read this blog and they think - if she's doing this and that, if she can hold a conversation, if she can stand upright then she must be ok now. She's had the operation, scar's healed. Everything's fine. Well everything's not fine, in fact this is probably the hardest time since the explosion. It's frustrating, painful, emotional, exhausting and I can't control it - yet - but I will. Because I want to be me again.
I'm also painfully aware that there are so many people who have been supporting me from afar, texting, e-mailing, calling and I've been a bit incommunicado. Please bear with me. I find it really difficult to communicate (a bit pathetic for a PR), to talk on a one to one just yet. It's a confidence thing that I'm working on.
Back in the greenhouse planting the dwarf (am I allowed to say that?) beans I cogitated on this brain thing and decided that I'm not going to let it beat me because what's the alternative? Bury myself in Arthur Bowers like the beans?
Whilst the brain's been a bit retro of late there's been a lot of building in the barn today:
1. Shower tray's in 2. Trenches mostly filled in 3. Kitchen prepped!
4. Beam me up 5. The world's biggest landmine? 6. A. Shirl's kitchen's cooking on gas....
Whilst shell-hunting I heard the house phone ringing. It was Joanne from the office. It was good to talk to her as she can fully identify and empathise on the brain front. She knows that even though there's no plastercast, no blood, no sticking plaster, there's still a lot of mending going on. You just can't see it. Out of sight, out of mind. You see, you meet people or they read this blog and they think - if she's doing this and that, if she can hold a conversation, if she can stand upright then she must be ok now. She's had the operation, scar's healed. Everything's fine. Well everything's not fine, in fact this is probably the hardest time since the explosion. It's frustrating, painful, emotional, exhausting and I can't control it - yet - but I will. Because I want to be me again.
I'm also painfully aware that there are so many people who have been supporting me from afar, texting, e-mailing, calling and I've been a bit incommunicado. Please bear with me. I find it really difficult to communicate (a bit pathetic for a PR), to talk on a one to one just yet. It's a confidence thing that I'm working on.
Back in the greenhouse planting the dwarf (am I allowed to say that?) beans I cogitated on this brain thing and decided that I'm not going to let it beat me because what's the alternative? Bury myself in Arthur Bowers like the beans?
Whilst the brain's been a bit retro of late there's been a lot of building in the barn today:
1. Shower tray's in 2. Trenches mostly filled in 3. Kitchen prepped!
4. Beam me up 5. The world's biggest landmine? 6. A. Shirl's kitchen's cooking on gas....
1 comment:
If I was your psychiatrist I'd say, slow down. You seem to be in a race to somewhere. That's commerce's interpretation of the world, and it holds money not water.
We are here, with whatever advantages or handicaps life has plastered us with. Having us racing for their finish line is just what schools and employers want.
Your brain seems to be writing quite well. I know well the complaint it's making. IF all this frenetic economic activity was, on balance, improving the world...
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