It is hard to not be fully absorbed by the whole Brexit thing especially when as a European citizen in the UK, it could potentially have such a dreadful impact on your life. Yet, I don’t want to write again about Brexit and the idiocy of it all, the useless politicians (Caroline Lucas being an exception here), that if any of us did our work like they do, we would be fired, blah, blah, blah. I bore myself with it.
As always when things happen around me that I cannot change, I resort to books. Reading is and has always been the only form of escaping my head that truly works. In particular, historical mysteries, but as you know, I read all sorts. So, all things that must be done are done with speed and efficiency so I can retreat to the sofa or my bed with the book. At this point, it feels like it’s the only thing I can do.
I also had a lovely reply about some nature writing by writers of colour in form of a crowdfunded online magazine, called the Willow Herb Review and it is wonderful and has cheered me so much today and reminded me how wonderful the internet can be, you seek, you ask and then someone will say, oh yes, that thing you are seeking it’s here, come and have a look. Small things that make all the difference.
I made marmalade this week, which is a January tradition to banish my January blues and then promptly dreamed that when the government is banning me from the UK, I was not allowed to take my (English) family and not even a single jar of marmalade, because I was not British enough. But I did not really want to write about this kind of stuff, today, but it just creeps in everywhere like sand from the beach which will be found in shoes and bags for years to come.
As most weeks, I envy my cats who are so not touched by what is going on, but I like to kid myself that they can feel that I am overwhelmed and worried and like to hang out with me more. That the paw reaching for my thigh is a reassuring gesture rather than a “human please feed me” move. Like most pet servants, I am convinced that my cats truly love me and understand me. I guess this illustrates perfectly how mad I am, but since I am not the only person to do this, I would consider this a socially acceptable form of madness.
The asthma is still bad which meant that I opted against a walk today. Birmingham does its best to reassure us that air quality is good, but trust the asthmatic: it’s not. The last couple of winters in particular, I really felt it. I know that us with poor lungs are naturally not seen as a measure of things, that it has to become so bad that those with super healthy lungs complain too before anyone even listens. Not going outside though is hard, but my lungs do need a break. Looking forward to being back in the Angus Glens, after a few days up in Scotland my lungs always improve.
But then, will we be able to go at Easter what with Brexit. Argh, there it rears its head again. It’s freaking everywhere, I cannot think any thought for more than three seconds before Brexit flashes in big neonlights.
I shall leave at this juncture and drink some coffee and read a book.