I am ‘finding myself’ in the pursuit of honest toil. At the end of the day I am tired, but in a physical, healthy way; not this tiredness in the head I am used to feeling most of the time.
Okay, you post-modernists, maybe there is no ‘self’ to find. Maybe we re-invent ourselves, from day to day, as circumstances demand. I don’t know. All I do know is that I am feeling better for doing this manual work, outside in the open air. And to stride bare-legged through the long grass – well, all I can say is that if you haven’t tried it, you should!
Another thing this physical stuff has done: it has made me feel more kindly to my erstwhile husband.
We think we can communicate with people because we speak the same language: English, in my case. But we each live and move in a different mental landscape; we are all aliens.
we don’t know this, and so we become confused and angry when people don’t understand us. That is the tragedy.
Anyway, enough of this philosophising, I have to hose the shit off these boots; they’re stinking the place out.
Friday, August 24, 2007
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1 comment:
Oh, for God's sake, Georgina! So, for once in your life you're doing an honest day's work. It's hardly Halldor Laxness, now is it? Paradise Reclaimed simply doesn't translate into you digging up some municipal park and planting a few petunias. If you really want to get your end away with your husband, then get on over to wherever the hell he's incarcerated and get him out. But stop behaving as though you've suddenly found Nirvana. The answer doesn't lie in the soil, but somewhere deep between your thighs. Go and reclaim your husband, before the Swedish tart gets there first.
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