Apparently it’s the equinox today. Perhaps that explains why I’m getting equal amounts of sleep night and day – and no, it’s not because I’m sleeping all day. In fact last night it seemed to me that I lay awake all night. Now, I’m sure that’s not true: I’m sure that at some point – probably at many points – I closed my eyes and dozed. I’m fairly sure I slept a few hours at least. But it didn’t seem like it – and that’s quite unsettling. Because it’s like losing your memory. I have long since ceased to say blithely things like ‘Oh, it’s ages since I’ve been to ___’ or ‘since I’ve seen ___’ because inevitably someone will retort saying that I came here only last year or saw so-and-so just a couple of months ago. And when that happens I feel horribly insecure. Only last week I upset someone because I thought she’d had a hip replacement (elderly person + hospital = hip replacement) when she’d been treated for cancer. Truth is, I was doing pretty well just to remember that she’d been ill at all. There’s too much stuff happening all the time, that’s the problem; and just as I feel insecure when I don’t remember things, so I feel scared when I seem to be awake but Mark says I’ve slept. It makes me feel like there’s no certainty anywhere. If I don’t know what I’ve done, what DO I know?
Well, one way to find out is to read your old diaries. I’ve dug mine out; spanning a period from 2005 until last year, they are a mix of biographical notes, ideas for poems, drafts of stories and thoughts for the blog. This led me to re-read segments of the blog, including this fragment of a conversation from 2008 and a conversation Mark and I held in writing because I was deaf. I’d forgotten how horrible it was to have so much wax in the ears that you could start a candle factory.
As I write I’m waiting for Daniel to return with pizza. We’re going to have some mother-son time, hanging out and watching ‘Extras.’ Sadly I will not be making it to Chris Conway’s gig with Lorraine Bowen, though Mark will.