21: 29pm ( awake at 7am up at 7.30am)
I’ve got this project completely muddled, but then it is the holiday and its almost impossible to keep to a routine when you have children to care for full-time. I seem to have moved to an evening schedule, thats ok I will get back to some order next week. I will get back to the old routine and rhythm. I like each day to have a structure, school at least provides that.
Coo coo coo Coo coo coo Coo coo coo
Yesterday was mostly a disaster. I stared at a screen and juggled admin whilst looking after Naoise. When I say looking after I am not sure I did a particularly good job of it. I mostly ignored him. Though I grew up being mostly ignored and that suited me fine. He played with his brothers star wars lego and played some games on my phone, and just hung out on the sofa. I think he was perfectly happy.
I had hoped to plant seedlings in small pots of soil in the back yard, but we didn’t manage that. Neither of us wanted to go out, we spent the day in our pyjamas.
I felt sad, more disappointing opportunity rejections. Its hard. Must not take it personally. Must move onwards and upwards. Must not get angry or frustrated. Must improve the work that I make, try harder, persevere, be resilient. Must work on resilience. Must be grateful for what I have and what I do manage to create. Don’t want to go CookOO.
Because I don’t want to go CooKOO I walk, I run, I cycle, I move, I climb, I jump and cling to the landscape. To the bog and the bog grass. To the tree branches and the lichen. To the possibility of seeing something wild. Last evening I walked high up on the hills. The grass in the patchwork of sheep fields is turning emerald. All is bright and fresh and springy. One field is completely full of new born lambs. They lie and skip and suckle from the ewes. All is blissful and hopeful and wonderful. The lambs are adorable. I wish I could pick one up, take it home feed it from my breast. The mother sheep are suspicious of my presence. I walk on leave them to their field of green heaven and nurture.
All about I can hear the sound of lambs bleating.
I walk on past a crimson child’s pram, past long shadows that cast my figure onto trees. I spot a male cookoo. Its a strange looking bird, big, grey with a distinctive freckled breast. I wonder where the female cookoo will lay her egg. Poor little birds. Poor parents, they will have to work so so hard to feed their monster baby.
A woman on a large handsome russet brown horse canters up the tarmac of the hill. I say hello, lovely day. A rather stupid obvious statement she looks down at me and grins in agreement.
Not sure that I really want to go home. I slow my pace. Work my way gradually around the budget supermarket, have a really close look at the bike bags before making a purchase. I buy more salad, avocado pears, yoghurt, tomatoes, apples. Can’t stop eating apples. Slipping into chocolate, there is so much of it about, lingering on shelves, it is devilishly desirable. Must resist.
Loosing the trail with this, not writing about the maternal. Loosing focus. Maybe its ok just to empty my mind of thoughts, mostly useless, tedious and boring, perhaps something of interest.
I woke in the early hours at 4.19, wrote some notes on my phone.
Owls are not always wise. Window open owl oooh ooooh ooh ooh. River rushing, Naoise snoring. Rejection. Dealing with rejection. How not to take it personally? Always another persons agenda. Need to follow my agenda. Focus. Focus. Persist. Persist. Work to your strengths.
Tarkovsky, The Mirror, 1975: The Dream Sequence.
Owl. Oh Owl how beautiful you hoot. I read that Sydney is staying in a place where there are Natajack Toads, Seals, and Sea Birds and Snakes are found in abundance. It sounds idyllic. I want to be there too, walking between the seals, feeling the sand under my feet. I will walk with him in my dreams.
Owls are not always wise. Watching the dream sequence to try and go back to sleep. Window open, can no longer hear the owl. Drink water, go to toilet. Think about the breastfeeding footage as a three screen TV screen installation.
Remembering the baby tawny owls that I saw on the forest floor this time last year. So gorgeous, eyes closed tight, fluffy feathers, just flown the nest, resting. One slightly larger than the other. So well camouflaged, I thought that they were stones covered in moss.