under another sun

So up and fiddling with photos and generally doing my stuff this morning.  Breakfast with Lorraine, who went off this afternoon to Rosie's mum Susan's celebration of life.  I sent my love to Rosie by text. I went to see Coílín my dentist. Was a tad early, so stood by the sea for a bit. The sun, breaking through briefly, was beautiful and compelled me to snap it. But another old school English April day, being cold and wet. I like her very much although I had to tell her that her root and branch cleaning had made one of my teeth very sensitive. She x-rayed it and pronounced it sound, and then later put fluoride on it which she said would help with the sensitivity. She deep cleaned the other side, which was much easier and by the end of the day, I felt generally much happier all round in the mouth department, and my sensitive tooth a lot less wince inducing, and my smile slightly brighter. Then to London to see Mum. At Lewes saw a bunch of rooks and a jackdaw on the edge of the ...

Resting mangled leg in my study, sorting and stacking more books in with the help of an additional bookcase I lifted on top one of the ones added at the weekend. The cats hanging around me, and sitting in boxes when they became available. Feeling really happy about my study. I'm not sure what to call it really. The Study, The Office, The Nervecentre?  I've even found myself calling it My Bedroom a couple of times. Nice to surrounded by my books and a single window with a lovely view - currently mitigated by guano on the glass. Have also been forcing myself to thrown things away, chiefly bits of paper, drafts of useless poems, and most symbolic of all, old rejections that I'd kept from publishers. Forcing myself to wonder why the hell am I treasuring rejection? No longer. Lorraine and Beth out all day and most of the evening, so I spent most of the day on this kind of thing. FaceTimed Mum who, with Mas, are still glum and coldy. Also and spoke briefly to Janet two second...

Woke up at 5:30 and got up at 7 even though neither of us had to be up and off early this morning. Feeling extremely anxious this morning, despite not having any single cause for this. Just a sense of everything being out of control. Having to chase unpaid invoices, having no idea when we can move into our new house, intermittent workflow, legal delays, waiting for decisions on manuscripts and so on. Nice text from Richard though this morning and I spoke to Mum and Mas briefly as I had not been able to contact them yesterday.Lorraine working at home this morning, but she ended up getting really stressed by a snotty head teacher who phoned her to say she was supposed to be at his school, and after she had frenziedly examined her diaries and lists, it turned out to be another Lorraine entirely. I ended up going for a walk in the park to attempt to reset the day, and then spent the afternoon doing my accounts. Stopped work at 5:30 to then get my second rejection of 24 hours, The marke...

A poetry rejection to start the day. Bah. Allowed myself to fall into a despondent mood. I took myself out for a growling walk, and headed down to the sea, mooching on the pier and into the Art Gallery. They still have the Jeff Keen work on display, and I found myself bored by it this time around. Had a look at the Egyptian stuff, and took one photo which ended up looking a bit like an SF book cover. Home, and tired again. Curse this flu, curse this prostatitis. I feel 100 years old. Betty, Lorraine and I had a curry tonight, however. Sloping off to the nearby Shahi, early in the evening, for our first outing in weeks. Below  a life sized Frankenstein's Monster on the pier, and an Egyptian face in the museum.

Rejection made easy Feeling non-specifically coldy and run down, which happened to be handy as I am working on The Sick Day the short play competition entry I am writing about the death of a hypochondriac. Hypochondria, I'm beginning to think, is a good metaphor for the loss of confidence being experienced in the financial markets around the world too. Institutions are losing confidence in their continued existence, in the way a hypochondriac begins to believe that he or she is holding onto life by their fingernails. Went to the gym for half an hour or so of lumbering on the treadmill and pulling and pushing heavy things. They should wire all of these weight machines up to generate power. Returned home to receive a rejection from a poetry magazine. I'm very philosophical about rejections these days. It is essential if you are to prevent yourself from peering at editors through telescopic sites from a city rooftop. You have to separate what you make, from who you are. J-P Sartre...