what quiet?

No, it didn’t happen. Not yet.

It will, though. Soon. Maybe.

The quiet, reflective, writing time hasn’t happened yet.

I’ve been doing things.

Homework. Meetings. Cold. Soreness. Busyness. Trying to pace myself. Designing a survey. Organising an AGM. Bits of everything. Diligently buying the wrong stationery for a girl. Going back to Weightwatchers. A worthy seminar on research and evaluation. Bookclub. Meeting Elspeth. Laughing. Learning. A twitter crisis. A funeral.

All the things- a more busy week than planned, followed by being practically immobile on Sunday. Is that not how pacing is meant to work?? My intentions are always good, but then I get carried away with myself.

found at: http://publicschool.wpengine.netdna-cdn.com/wp-content/uploads/CantDoThis450.jpg
found at: http://publicschool.wpengine.netdna-cdn.com/wp-content/uploads/CantDoThis450.jpg

Ditzy says I’m interested in too many things for my own good. She may not be wrong.

Expect worthy, considered, pieces when you find them, bloggy buddies; I’m either flat out busy or plain old flat out.

the obituarist

People! We know this guy! Paul A. Waters (I don’t know, but I’m thinking Anthony or Aloysius- feel free to add suggestions below) is our bloggy buddy Blackwatertown. I enjoy his writing and his company, and am not so secretly chuffed that he referred to me as a ‘health campaigner’ on twitter. ‘Health campaigner’ sounds more impressive than ‘mouthy lay-about’, don’t you think?

The Obituarist is full of derring- do, tall tales and an underlying tension. Straight backed army chaps with twirly moustaches, double barrelled surnames and stiff upper lips contrast with the up and coming journalist. There’s drink, and its effects.  There’s jealously, a friendship of sorts, and the wondering- who is going to pull a fast one? It’s crime, black humour, and old fashioned good fun. Conveniently for those of us with a Kindle, it can now be downloaded from amazon and other ebook retailers.

Buy. Read. Enjoy.

it’s happened

In truth, it’s been happening for a while.

There have been the comments on my appearance. (Most gallingly, “Are you Ann?”)

I’ve heard myself speak, and realised that I sound like the @irishmammies twitter feed: “Oh it’s lovely I know, but you’d no more at it LOOK at it and it would get dirty”; “You can take away the other sections but I’ll hold on to The Culture if you don’t mind. It’s handy for the telly”. (If you use Twitter and don’t follow @irishmammies, you’re missing a gem, especially when she and @mariankeyes get together…)

The other day I was all excited when the postman brought me my new shoes. They’re not flat! (They’re not high obviously, I need to be able to walk.) Just enough of a heel to edge my legs towards average length. They can occupy that middle gound between winter boots and flip flops. Also, they’re red.

I bought a pair of red shoes for everyday wear.

It has finally happened.

Yes, I have turned into my mother.