A Mild Rant

I think my poetry is wasted on these pages so from now on they'll be for my eyes only. Just like in the old days when I would deal with my creativity by filling notebooks.
Deal with? Creativity shouldn't be something I deal with, I should look upon it as a great gift. But that's another post...
As you can see I am not in the best of moods so I'm going to leave this now and go to work. Nothing like physical work to bring the artist down to earth.

Let There Be Light. In Sainsbury's.

Simple things really are the best.

I haven't been feeling tip top recently so when I woke at 5 a.m. I decided a trip to Sainsbury's was what I needed.

Before I cruised down to Sainzo though, I popped in the Factory shop and bought six various flavoured fat balls. One is insect flavoured. But that's quite irrelevant.

Anyway as I walked around the great old shoppe I felt invigorated not because I was buying food but because I was out and about in a place I've missed. A simple, slightly out-of-date place, but a joint so welcoming with it's acidic orange carrier bags and cramped corners filled with fabulous low priced tellys, alarmed booze and breaded ham. Yes, I felt at home and invisible and that's what I needed.

Is that sad?
Yes, possibly but it made me think that normal every day activities are great. They're little islands of comfort when your mind is being ravaged by dark and fearsome monsters. For an hour or so I was lost in bogoffs, mad trolley men and reduced stickers.
So as I gracefully walked up and down the aisles, I didn't moan not even when my way was blocked by ladies with meringue hair rabbiting on about Greek holidays...
No, I loved them all.

And as I put the shopping in the boot I didn't want to leave, sad though that seems and maybe even a trifle weird but I wanted to be back in there, with people, with colour and movement. So I went back in there, picked up a basket and bought a few tins.

Being in an awful darkness makes baked beans, brilliant!

Bloody Ballerina

I skidded in the car today because the road at 5:30 this morning was like an ice rink. But it was quite thrilling really,all I needed was some Bolero and I'd have got a six from the judges.
I've been in the evil, mind numbing clutches of a particularly bad bout of depression these past few days and so the crisp wake-up call of an early morning drive to the station was just what the doctor ordered.
It's funny isn't it how when you're on your knees, with self destruction in your head, your mind is as clear as water and as sharp as a razor, well it is for me anyway. I'm succinct and my conversations articulate and profound, especially at midnight. I daren't go near alcohol because that only make me cry and although crying is one of life's safety bouys, it's something I can do without.

I did my cleaning job today and as I thrust my mop into every nook and cranny I glided over his wooden floors like a bloody minded beautiful ballerina, and oh how I love to dance.

His candles were looking sad and depleted likewise his booze bottles and as the cats followed me upstairs I sucked in a giant breath of relief. Relief that I had been able to rouse myself to action because previously in years gone by I've given in to the bleakness and remained idle. And that my dears is a very wrong thing to do. I've learnt you see from past experience that action, action, is the only way to beat the very devil that is depression.

My head is still clogged with the remnants of a very poor weekend but my lipstick is on and so is the darts. So as I prepare vegetables to the friendly sound of commentator Tony Green I'll grit my teeth knowing that I'm doing the best for myself...