“I have seen many storms in my life. Most storms have caught me by surprise, so I had to learn very quickly to look further and understand that I am not capable of controlling the weather, to exercise the art of patience and to respect the fury of nature.”
Summer is here then. Weather is rockin’. I really feel the urge to travel and want to do that next year. I’d love to go to India. Just need to save which isn’t one of my virtues. I am reading a book by the Indian sage Ramana Maharshi one of my heros. It’s such a delightful book, so insightful and it’s resonating on a real deep level for me at this time, it’s been real wake up call, or rather a reminder of who I am really am behind all the nonsense I tell myself.
Also been watching a bunch of nonsense on Netflix, including season 2 of ‘The Dark’. It’s such an awesome show, all about time travel, kind of Stranger Things for grown ups. I’ve seen both shows and I much prefer “The Dark.’
Oh and don’t get me started on reading. Since I finished my first non fiction book in 2 years a few weeks ago I’ve read around 4 books. I’ve always been an avid reader so have no idea why this fell out of my life. It’s most definitely something I’ve welcomed back with open arms.
Want to start cooking more, my diet has gone to the dark side. Going to crack on with some recipes and do an online shop later today.
Have a wonderful week everyone. x
p.s. I’m writing a novel and am around 9 chapters in. You can read it as I write. If you want a read let me know and I’ll send you a link. The novel is called PAVEMENT.
Jean emerges from the living room. Jean is a bizarre, skeleton of a woman, with eyes like Marty Feldman that dart nervously about all over the place looking for a way out. I think she washes a lot cos she has that whiff of cheap soap about her. She looks about 70 but I think she’s only about 50. She looks a bit damp like she’s taken her clothes out the dryer twenty minutes too early and she’s forever asking me about my mums health. ‘How’s ya mum is she well?’ It’s as if it’s of real concern to her.
Jean knows full well her son is a Walter Mitty but she humours him in case he flips which is always a possibility. One time I was round here and she wouldn’t give him money for five packets of panini stickers she would only give him money for 4 packets and he started headbutting the wall. “You old &%$&,” he shouted, gritting his teeth. “You *&$*$ tight old hag faced old $$%£$,” and she just stood there smiling like a stepford mum too scared to stop him in case he murdered her or something. We just stood there watching as he put dents in the plasterboard. —