Literally versus metaphorically.

by Veronica Foale on November 13, 2011

in Navelgazing

It’s wet outside. Cold and grey, the kind of weather that leaves you chilled to the bone, wishing for a warm patch of sunlight, or to be a cat, curled up under the covers of the bed.

+++

Writing every day is hard. This is probably why I ought to keep doing it.

:The hard things are always worth it, in the end:

- which sounds like the punchline to a dirty joke, but is decidedly not a euphamism.

Unless it’s a euphamism for life, in which case, carry on.

+++

Every time I stand up, someone steals my chair.

Everytime I sit down, I’m suddenly needed elsewhere.

I’m starting to suspect that this is the euphamism for life. Bugger trying to be happy in this moment, or taking a second to reflect.

No, you’ve got to aim for overall happiness, so that you can survive the shouting and the stolen chairs and the moments filled with annoyance.

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Or maybe I’m wrong and this is just so hard because my hands are cold and somehow, I’ve managed to gouge a hole in my hand and I’m bleeding all over the keyboard.

Literally.

Not metaphorically.

I am literally, bleeding all over the keyboard. The space bar and lower keys at least.

Maybe that should be the euphamism.

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I am a perfectionist

by Veronica Foale on November 12, 2011

in Me

I am a perfectionist, so I bought myself this.

Sometimes, it is easier to do nothing perfectly, than it is to do something.

Especially when you’re a perfectionist and the possibility of failure is weighing on your heart with every step you take.

So I’m wrecking my journal and seeing what happens. NaBlo is also giving my inner perfectionist a run for her money, forcing me to write every day, regardless of quality.

It’s probably good for me.

PS, it’s also my birthday today.

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A wedding ceremony, also eeek

by Veronica Foale on November 11, 2011

in Me

My rehearsal is booked and in under a fortnight, we shall traipse off to a park, to practise getting married, before coming home, freaking the fuck out about details and shouting at each other. I can accept this, just as I can accept the fact that we will still get married, because love is shouting at each other and still wanting to see their face.

Eventually.

The hardest part here is now I have to write a wedding ceremony, because everything I had read, all of the samples, all of the words, they all feel plasticky and cardboard, not real and made with parts of soul. Is that weird, that I think words can have souls?

I suspect that writing my wedding ceremony will be harder than anything else I’ve done, but then, this is what I do. I write things down and make people read them.

But.

This isn’t a blog post, or words that I hide in the back of my computer in the hidden files – no, this is something to be read in front of EVERYBODY and help?

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This Uncharted Hour #uncharted2011

by Veronica Foale on November 10, 2011

in Life

This is where I can be found this afternoon, watching the dress rehersal for This Uncharted Hour at the Theatre Royal.

Tickets are limited, so if you’ve got a spare hour this weekend and you’re in Tasmania, head along. You can hear what I’ve got to say about it on twitter this afternoon.

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Wedding and grief

by Veronica Foale on November 9, 2011

in Navelgazing

My wedding is in seventeen days and my grandmother continues to be dead. These things are not related, yet they chase each other around and around inside my head. I cannot help but think that everything would be so much easier without the lack that death leaves.

Missing someone doesn’t have a timeline. Instead, it shows up and takes your breath away every time you wish that they were here, standing right next to you.

Seventeen days.

It’s isn’t that I’m not looking forward to it (I am) I just want things to be different. Slightly less grief-y and dark. Less cold and more sun. You know, in my perfect world.

Of course, if my world was perfect we would be able to cure cancer, turn back time and render people mute, all with the power of our minds.

Imperfect is what we’ve got and sometimes things are better and sometimes they are not.

That’s the way life goes.

***

Day nine of NaBloPoMo and I’m going mad.

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