‘Hanging laundry’, Jeffrey T Larson.

not a great deal of sitting going on round here! but I do seem to get in a lot of thinking time while hanging out or taking in laundry. there is something particularly soothing about the rhythms, the movement of it. the knowledge that I am repeating the actions of women who came before me in this place, in taking care of the people around me with the help of the sun and the wind, and that others (still, in all likelhood, women) will continue to do so when I am long gone.

a laundry poem for you…

I Stop Writing the Poem
by Tess Gallagher

to fold the clothes. No matter who lives
or who dies. I’m still a woman.
I’ll always have plenty to do.
I bring the arms of his shirt
together. Nothing can stop
our tenderness. I’ll get back
to the poem. I’ll get back to being
a woman. But for now
there’s a shirt, a giant shirt
in my hands, and somewhere a small girl
standing next to her mother
watching to see how it’s done.

having a couple of introspective days over the soberversary. much appreciating all the marvellous comments and likes appearing on my blog, and the emails too that have come my way. it is really amazing to feel so enveloped in community at this time and I am enormously touched by all the lovely things that have been said and wished for me!

in real life, a little less commotion. Mr P thought it was eleven months!!!! he has been duly admonished πŸ˜‰ but hey, as explained in this articleΒ about long term sobriety which I’ve linked to previously, when people stop giving a shit, it is actually a good thing. It means that you are perceived as normal, ffs. when we reach that point we have achieved our ultimate dream – to be able to drink like a normie. which I now can, in that I don’t think disproportionately about alcohol – I just can’t do that and consume alcohol, too πŸ˜‰

otherwise, it has been quite an emotional couple of days. very like the burst of tears that often comes at the end of a long race. the release of pent-up emotion being able to escape no other way. went for pumping run yesterday evening, running to get the wriggles out. today it’s been more tears and wobbles, feeling quite fragile. wanting to go to bed at 6.30pm. Mr P being lovely and giving me lots of hugs, cooking beef stew with dumplings, yum yum. I have just received my copy of Tommy Rosen’s new book, Recovery 2.0, and am looking forward to delving into that, too.

not sad exactly. definitely having no urges whatsoever to drink. more feeling as if I am at the end of one thing and the start of another, which is all in my head OBVIOUSLY because it is a continuum and not a new stage. we try to cut up our lives and stories into convenient chunks and bites whereas in fact they are a lot more like the Doctor Who story arcs, continually crossing and linking in multi-dimensional rainbows…

I am fine. not troubled, just contemplative.Β some appropriate music, then:

here is ‘Inisheer’, composed by the accordionist Thomas Walsh.

(oh….what am I supposed to put at the end of my blog posts, now?)

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