Showing posts with label insomnia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label insomnia. Show all posts

Monday, 22 September 2025

An aye for an eye…

Cat on a hot new roof: Pixel checks it over!


Writers remember everything… especially the hurts. Strip a writer to the buff, point to the scars, and he’ll tell you the story of each small one. From the big ones you get novels. A little talent is a nice thing to have if you want to be a writer, but the only real requirement is the ability to remember the story of every scar.
    Art consists of the persistence of memory.

— Stephen King: Misery

I have written on here before about the NHS at its worst (for me). But on Saturday I experienced it at its very best. Before I tell you how, I need to take a few steps back, and tell you the why.

Last Tuesday, after six weeks of seemingly continuous rain, my kitchen and bathroom roof was replaced (very loudly); and I finally removed the bucket and pan from under the spot where all the water had collected in the roof void and made its way through. Then, when the scaffolding was dismantled on Wednesday afternoon, I went and sat outside with my cat Pixel amongst the cement dust and general mess, and reflected on how we’d muddled our way through from the morning I slept in; Storm Floris found the weaknesses in the old roof; and I woke up to an inch of water soaked into the kitchen floormats and collected in poor Pixel’s food-bowls, as well as splashed up the walls and kitchen door (where the weak spot was). It could have been worse, I suppose. But it felt like a disaster… — an expensive disaster.

Tuesday, 25 March 2025

Would in thy palm dissolve…

Conditionality
Provoked by yet another hospital visit — this one more promising than most… — and therefore composed over a watchful, thoughtful night.

…but be sure
I will from henceforth rather be myself,
Mighty and to be fear’d, than my condition,
Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down…

— Shakespeare: Henry IV, Part I
Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth,
Unapt to toil and trouble in the world,
But that our soft conditions, and our hearts,
Should well agree with our external parts?

— Shakespeare: The Taming of the Shrew

smooth is a soft word; soft is not — it speaks
of a lover’s leaving: the latch that drops,
catches and calls; a lapse of the caution
that pulled the stillness of the prior world closed

closed is not ever close — bodies touching
may hold unknowable souls, or stories
consciously untold; can cling to silence
fashioned from flints of fear, pointed with pain

pain is anything and everything we
wish it were not — the short sharpness of a
cat’s playful claw; the ceaseless cremation —
deep within its eye — of stars undying

undying is not living, nor is it
the phoenix’ echoed resurrection — mere
hope-filled fancy for a latch that never
lifts nor falls; for a blade pared soft and smooth