What an appalling week. With unavailing constancy I have stared at the cracked walls and the sobering trees which are grey and smooth, from my garrett window. This was my hardiest attempt at reaching outside. Bleak days that stretch out, rain filled or gleaming in chill sunshine. A rainbow on Thursday, arching over the garden: changing nothing. Just another fact. Charlie straightening her hair on the bed. I stood quietly looking at the rainbow: the green shoots sitting in the gutter, in their crimson sheaths drinking the remnants of the rain. Not going out tonight. Not going anywhere. I'd be angry if I could summon the energy, but instead I'm listless and blasted in a clean - empty way. What is independence worth anyway, if it makes you so miserable and aloof. Ten years in the making. Dh Lawrence; the Trespasser, left open on my bed, upstairs, emanating. Invitation. Open, read, get really upset, relate, relate. Have a look in the mirror. I don't like you. It's funny, really. But...I think I've got past the stage where I can file and forget. I'm grinding my toes into the floor, thinking about what comes next. To belittle what I'm feeling makes me furious. A glowing stem of grudge, rooted deep. Yet I'm sorry.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, late into the night, staring at the mask on the wall. The ties and scarves have formed an elegant oriental shadow about it like an aureole. I realise all I have left now is my words. My title. I speak to you but you can't hear. My lips form the words, but the roaring of the gulf drowns them. My worst day this year. Jesus, I'm sorry.