CATHARSIS

Is there anything better than a Sunday morning, a good night’s sleep, a good cup of coffee? Toast. Eggs. Carrot juice. And because it’s Sunday—yogurt and strawberries. Sarah Slean is playing, I am writing. I am cozy and dishevelled. I am unkempt and thinking and typing. I am warm and happy.

My last visit out to The Hideout was...well I can’t describe it as anything other than traumatic. I woke up, I ate breakfast, i wrote. I ate lunch, i wrote. I ate dinner. I wrote, i wrote, i wrote, i went to bed. I wrote from fear and panic, i wrote, uncertain if I could do it; i wrote not knowing at all if i was making a horrible mistake, i wrote worried that i wasn’t good enough, smart enough, disciplined enough to pull it off. I wrote. I came back 2 days earlier than planned; fleeing that small Ghost Town like it was the scene of a crime. In fact, it was. It was stark and lonely and harrowing. It was unsettling and disturbing, filled with ghosts and a past that hadn’t yet been cleared. I had worked, being my own slave-driver, driven by fear, fear, fear.

My return back here for my second book was reluctant, inevitable...and thoroughly lovely. A fresh coat of paint, a new window, a burgundy-flowered duvet, some good lighting and curtains which said ‘welcome.’ Oh and running water that didn’t smell like the depths of a horse’s ass.

Some good DVDs to keep me company, even better speakers and Annie, Sarah, Tori, Joni...all my muses to keep me feeling safe, comforted, happy and writing. Mostly, I feel free. And unencumbered from responsibility. All I have to do is write. I don’t have to worry about money, worry about income, worry about income, answer phones, answer questions, worry about income, explain myself, say no, say thank you, say sorry.

All I have to do is write.

And sleep. I write and write and write and sleep and sleep and sleep some more. And eat. Eat without guilt; Eat like I haven’t been fed for months.

Last time it was like a prison out here; this time, it’s a warm cocoon. Just another reminder that situations are what you make of them.

And my eternal lesson: Suffering is optional.

The fear and worry is still there, but for this day, for these several blissful moments, I can put the world and the worry on hold. I can nurture and cuddle and be quiet and unapologetic and be myself. I can think and examine and take an objective look at that life from which, right now, I seem so removed. I can see the truth for what it is; I can see what it is I really need to do. I don’t have to pretend or keep up appearances. Here, I can stop lying, stop pretending, stop, stop, stop. Stop pretending that everything is fine, that I've got everything under control.

But here. Here, I can stop holding my breath. I can breathe and sit in the stillness. Oh, the axe is going to fall square on the back of my neck. It’s only a matter of time. But not today. Not in this peaceful place.

And I don’t want to leave. I want to stay in this false reality for longer. But the real world will not wait; the real world is impatient and needs to be paid. The real world wants its answer. The real world has a return call to make and emails to fake.
But here, in this moment, there is just me. And the writing. Is all I need. And I am grateful.

Listen to these today:

KINGS OF LEON: closer ('Stranded in this spooky town...’ Indeed!)
SARAH SLEAN: notes from the underground
ANNIE LENNOX: wait in vain
A-HA: celice
PAUL SIMON: under african skies
TORI AMOS: parasol
JONI MITCHELL: california
KATE BUSH: sunset
ATMOSPHERE: puppets (because this song kinda sounds like a The Roots song and will make you want to clap your hands over your head)