Poisoned fruit?
For anyone actually visiting / reading this blog, it must seem that my having gotten over a bout of December pneumonia, during the course of which I wrote much (laid up in bed with my laptop), also “cured” me of daily writing.
Not quite, as I’m still writing (but not necessarily publishing it here). It is the case, however, that I’m in the middle of a de-cluttering and re-arranging frenzy — which isn’t a brainstorm like that pneumonia-provoked one last month. But it is eating up a ton of time.
And (as always) there are family & domestic issues, which relentlessly whittle the free hours away. Not to mention that I could, as Marianne Faithfull says in that song, “clean the house for hours and rearrange the flowers” (or rather throw out at last the now-dead birthday bouquet), but at this point I couldn’t care less about dirt. Presently, dust bunnies procreate freely at my house, with hefty contributions of pet dander courtesy of my dog, who desperately needs a grooming.
Like master (or mistress), like chattel (or pet), I guess, but I have more important things to do.
I’m less embarrassed by my messy house than I am by the paucity of blog posts (excepting the Diigo links, which generate themselves every time I bookmark an article of interest).
At the same time, since I’m determined to keep the focus here on matters that relate to what I write about for the magazine, I’m loathe to write about other topics or about what’s going on in my personal life. So I’m not going to tell you about the scintillating council meetings I’ve attended, or my anxiety about another public speaking gig at yet another club here in Victoria (who knew these clubs existed?), or my involvement with local arts organizations, or the brilliant bits of ideas I’ve noted for future articles, or …or …or…
Not to worry, however: I’ll be back soon, and no, the fruit is not poisoned! (That being a reference to Montenegro, which uses Faithfull’s ballad to great effect. The film ends when the heroine murders her daffy family with poisoned fruit. I will let mine live.)
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