The writer's blog

Around the corner from my house is a lady who sells succulents and fruit at the gate of her property.  Yesterday I stopped to buy some lemons, it was pissing down with rain, and I didn't want to put the money in the glass jar she used as an honesty box.  I went to her door and knocked, but no one answered, I thought about putting the money in the letter box, but had no idea if I should, so I put the money in the jar, stressed to feck that someone would take it. 
 About an hour later I drove passed again and it was still there.  The soaking wet five dollar note stuck to the side of the jar.  My stress lessened, but I was curious by the fact that I felt stress about it at all.  If she wants to have a glass jar as an honesty box that's her business.  If she wants to leave the money out for anyone to see, reach inside and take, that is also her business, but it bugged the hell out of me.
Why is that?
Why am I so worried about someone I don't even know?
Scotty too hotty was like, let it go babe, but I can't.


I am studying at the moment, doing a course about "Wellbeing" through Dr Laurie Santos at Yale University,  and it is great.  It is not a difficult course and I encourage anyone to take the course as you will learn so much about why we humans do the crazy ass things that we do.  One thing you have to do on this course at take a really hard look at yourself and your behaviour, and that can be a bit of a challenge, it certainly was for me.  But I did learn a lot about why I do the things I do and why I am stuck fast in the mire of dissatisfaction with my wonderful life right now...which is just crazy.

  
I have been having major struggles with my writing.  Lots of reasons why, mostly because I'm not particularly inspired at the moment.   This year has been a hard one for many reasons. Not just for me but for a lot of people.
Covid19 is still rearing its ugly face, knocking people down willy nilly, scaring the bejeezus out of people, but also  cultivating malaise in others, who don't give a feck about wearing their masks, or following any sort of protocol anymore. They seem to have the notion that every single person is going to get it eventually so wtf, why bother.
The worst thing about covid19 for me is that a lot of the people I know who have had it contracted it, caught it at funerals.  So at a time when people need human touch and connection the most they are being slapped down by this thing.  That sucks.  It all sucks. 


My beloved baby brother Johnny got it, probably from a conference that he was presenting at, and that pissed me off as he and I were going on a road trip to Warkworth and he tested positive the day before we were going to leave.
On the face of it i do not look like someone who is at risk as I am at home, alone, most of the time but both my husband and son are out in the big wide world working and could bring home the virus at any time, because of the sucky people out there sneezing and coughing willy nilly without a FUCKING MASK! 
Yes I shouted that. 
Wear a fucking mask.

So, I made the decision that I am putting writing on the back burner for a while and will re-jig my garden, a place that feeds my tummy and my soul.  I am excited by the tasks ahead and for the first time in a long time I really feel ok.  Of course I am still writing stuff, just throwing down stories that pop into my mind, the only time I won't be writing something is when I'm dead.


So, this year I am going to put some more fruit trees in my front yard, fill all  the planters Scotty made for me with vegies and grow big bins of herbs and flowers.  I am still trying to figure it all out in my head and on paper.  I remember when my garden was the most important thing to me, I mean besides my Scotty too hotty and whanau, and I want it to be that again.  I am not nostalgic about the past, I just like myself way better when I am excited to get outside every day.