In the past few months, I’ve spent more time in Sydney than I have at home – but now I’m home again. Back to my own stuff, my own bed, my own personal patch of Pacific Ocean which – alleluia! – hasn’t upped and absconded in my absence.
Trouble is, I’m finding it hard to focus. Possibly because I now have the time and opportunity to return to my usual slothful ways, and focusing might suggest the need for action. OMG, horror of horrors!
But life is just one big dichotomy, isn’t it. Even the thought of actually doing something productive is enough to make me weak with exhaustion, but doing nothing might make me weep with boredom before too long and that would be even more boring than boring inertia. And probably exhausting as well.
But you’ll be pleased to know that help is at hand. My ever-resourceful eldest daughter has come up with a Plan. She has undertaken to phone me at 8 every morning (on my landline to make sure I have to get out of bed to answer it, knowing that if I don’t, she’ll be round here to check I haven’t died in the night) and give me a word for the day. And by 9, I have to do something creative with that word (along with showering, dressing, fortifying myself with coffee etc) and email her the results.
Today’s word was honey.
‘If it’s honey you want,’ said mama,
‘You’re pushing your luck a bit far.
I’ve got crystallised jam
And some recycled spam
And a caraway seed in a jar.’