Soft

Perth whiskers in at the open balcony door. Mid April yet sometimes summer still refutes our claims at high noon, spearing sun and searing air.
A soft afternoon of domesticity, answering emails and trying to still my mind. Limited success.
Richard Shindell, a voice of husky longing, funnily enough a great soundtrack to run to. If it's not trance it might as well have heart-tearing lyrics.
Not only am I learning to love the questions, but I think I am also developing a painful crush on the challenges. How very beautiful this life is.
And running, no matter how jibble-making, and sweat-pouring and stitchy, is good therapy. The tears that came last week reminded me a little of long ago cross country seasons, when just finishing - just finishing - meant the world to me.
Slowly, softly, sleep has returned. Over the weekend, when nights started at 7.30 and I woke with the birds (currawongs in WA?), drinking my cuppa Paul before the rest of the camp stirred, I felt refreshed, and a little blessed.

It's never easy, this life, this love ...  ...  ...

No sleep...why no sleep?

Last night stretched into small, frustrating pockets of turbulent sleep, but it was mostly wakefulness, reading, eyes strained under the yellow bedroom light. Possession by AS Byatt...a book long ago recommended by Ems, and finally, thanks to the Joondalup Library, I am reading it now. It is a delight.

I went to Freo yesterday for Voicebox, but without having written anything. I sat at a table and had dinner, and listened to the two rather excellent featured poets. Josephine Wilson was especially impressive. I scrawled this and that in my small new notebook, but didn't stay for open mic. I drove back along the shoreline, watching the lights of the cargo ships sway in the wind. Headlights sprayed their rays through the evening fog.

When I went to bed at 930 I thought sleep was a given - I was so unspeakably spent... maybe starting to exercise again, and eat good food and be gentle with myself. These things will help.