I had a self-inflicted bad day as I hate this lockdown although I know the logic. I feel better since I got an amusing WhatsApp message from a friend.
I have been writing and am feeling the love from the community here. I feel sorry for my friends in the US, as that is the current epicenter of Corvid19, and all Trump wants to do is lift restrictions so the economy can recover.
If I had known my previous neighbours would move because they thought they had been mentioned in my blog, I would have mentioned them a year ago. Just think, I put up with their windchime and all their nuisance behaviour for a year and all I had to do was mention them!!!
I still can’t find where they think they are mentioned. I’m just happy they are gone.
The weather has been lovely but still cool. Spring. I need to trim a few growths from my jasmine so that the energy goes into the upright and wall hugging branches.
My clematis has grown tremendously too. It needs a bit of pinning to the fence.
My hair still feels great and hopefully looks great, and my smoke alarm is still bleeping in spite of being dismantled. Still no well ripped fireman, even if I wanted one.
At 8pm on Thursday, the nation is going to applaud our medical staff from our front doors, windows and balconies. I’m looking forward to that.
It’s unusual for me to write here in the morning, but as I’ve missed two days I felt like updating.
On Tuesday evening I went to a poetry event. We weren’t in our usual venue as that is being sold. We were upstairs in a pub and we have used it before, but I don’t recall the seating being so uncomfortable. I am still aching a bit.
It was a really good evening though. There were vulnerable poems, call to action poems, mother’s advice poems. There were good poems and not so good poems.
I think it was the mix of people as well as the poetry that made it so good. There was a wider age group, and a wider sexuality – more diverse identification. One of the sweetest guys there is queer, but you would never know it.
While writing, I have responded to an email from a publication on medium. They are publishing an essay I wrote. I’m thrilled because my other royalties this month are less than a dollar.
I’m enjoying the garden. Spring is showing everywhere. There are still signs of winter, but new life is pushing up. I have seeds to sow as well. I did my autumn seeds. I love watching what comes up.
I communicated with the dad of my daughter’s boyfriend. Just asking for some communication. He blocked me. I feel like my daughter is a kidnapped young woman. That family doesn’t seem to know the meaning of mature, or self-improvement.
I barely recognise my daughter. She sometimes swears at me now. This is not the young lady that moved in with them.
Despite this, I feel happy. The sun is warm, the garden is full of promises, I am being read, and my social life is good.
I was very happy that Ireland won their opening game in the Six Nations. They won at home for the first time since the game at Croke Park, borrowed from the GAA. I remember that match. Not a dry eye in the stadium. It was such a shame that Ronan Gara refused to shake hands with royalty.
It would have been my sister Pamela’s birthday today. It’s a a strange thing to know it, and miss her. She should be here, laughing with me.
I am seeing spring is very much arriving in my garden. Green shoots are everywhere, buds and spring flowers. It gives me a good feeling. It’s a bit early for some things but with so much confusion in the weather I’ll take any joy on offer.
My writing is going well on medium. I enjoy it and I like reading the articles of others. It’s a stretching exercise, a growing edge, and I’m glad because I like personal growth. I don’t like to stand still.
The nerve in my left leg has continued to give some gip, but nothing like the pain I had previously. I’m grateful for this.