Yesterday I met a philosophising tyre-sales man.
I showed him the balding front tyres of our filth-mobile, and said 'are these dead or nearly dead'. He said, 'we are all but close to death' and smiled serenely. He also didn't try and sell me any new ones on the spot, but said they would be all right for another month or so . . . this is unusual surely. I put it down to the end of the world myself.
I feel odd today: just had a haircut, I think she cut off some optimism strands with the hair. Good cut though.
I know I have blogged this before, but . . . the words come back sometimes—on days like this.
My dear friend and partner on advertising nightmare photo shoots once mentioned how strange it is that one can experience so many moods in one day.
I slept badly, leaning heavily to the left imagining clinging to a scratchy hillside in the wind. Woke at 6.30 as the train passed, drank tea, wrote in bed with hot water bottle, did exercises—all good. Ate toast - good, cleared up, boring but life-affirming; hoed weeds, excellent.
Depressing but useful email arrived with regard to my current artistic endeavors. Day suddenly full of what is it all about questions leaping up and down like dog fleas. Sat in bed again as the wind was too cold to do things I had promised myself I would do. Started a difficult letter, then it was time to go to the hairdressers and confess the reason I have a chunk of hair missing above one ear was to do with saving money.
Now at home after dog walk and cake - a little better, but a certain hysteria seems to be hiding in the corners of the house. Yes, it's got me. Will have to post a very silly thing that makes me and Ezra laugh—thank you Nick!
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