Today is a hard day. No harder than most in practical terms: the morning was as cold and dreary as ever, the drive to work as horrific, the work itself as tedious, empty, magical, and full of joy, as any other...
Today is hard because I have made it hard for myself. I have tortured and chewed away at my insides for the last 12 hours, barely pausing for a few hours sleep. The cause of this torture is an old foe: jealousy. Or insecurity, to be more general, and inclusive of the number and breadth of the fears I am carrying around in my head? Maybe, just tiredness, or the downside of sensual indulgence,..?
Or perhaps these fears are a result of the type of non-verbal cues which my job has [overly?] sensitised me to? Or maybe my mum was right... maybe like my old gran, I have the gift?
A little back-story is needed here I think.
Wednesday, 3 February 2010
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