Brief Light

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Macbeth Act 5, scene 5, 19–28

My partner’s father died last night and somehow, I have found myself thinking of this poem that I had last read in its totality when I was still in High school. It speaks of Macbeth’s indifference towards his wife’s death – someone whom he was so close to in the beginning of Shakespeare’s play. Although it does not reflect on my partner, who feels the death very acutely, it reflects on death, and how brief life is in the grand scheme of things. How, like a candle, death can come quickly, blowing out a candle before it’s time, or run the full course of life, burning the candle to the ground. My heart aches for my other half, swept away now in a torrent of pain and personal loss. The death of this man not only reminded me of my own mortality, but more viscerally, the mortality of my own parents. I had almost lost my mother in 2008, when she was struck down (in the literary sense) by a disease called Guillian-Barre Syndrome, and I had then found myself trying to imagine what life would be without her. The place where I went to in my mind was a bleak world, with no security or comfort.
It hurts me to think that my partner is one step closer to that desolate loss, standing at the edge of it and looking out at a world that none of us had seen coming.

That our parents die before us is inevitable, a cruel fact of nature because our physical bodies are not immortal.
Yet, it is bitter and terrible.



So, I’m still alive but very tired. I haven’t posted in a while, jerked around by my exterior turmoil that kicked up a whole lot of inner turmoil. Today is the first day in weeks that I have a quiet moment for myself, a morning in which I don’t have to do anything but work later this afternoon. I’m physically exhausted, something which doesn’t happen often with me because I’m very fit. I wanted to go and exercise this morning but couldn’t make it round the block. I suspect it doesn’t help that I’ve picked up two pounds in the past few weeks. Sigh, lol.

My life has settled down again, and I feel like the survivor of a natural disaster, caught between the relief that I’ve made it and the desperate thoughts of what now (by this, I by no means imply that I understand what’s happening to the people in Haiti. It’s terrible, and I know that I’m very fortunate to have everything that I have). My bad luck seems to have ended. My horse is recovering, though it will take a few weeks before I can ride him again. We’re watching him for a relapse but it seems that he’s doing alright. My car’s back from the panel beaters and although I’m now desperately broke, I at least have enough gas to get me to work where I’ll be able to procure more cash. All in all, things seem to have settled down for me at least.

I ask you though to please think of my partner, whose father is very ill. It’s a painful situation, because inevitably, there’s nothing that anybody can do except wait. I can’t go through because it’s too far for a casual ‘support’ visit (my other half’s father collapsed out of town on a business trip and now need to stay there in hospital). There is not much that I can say or do in this situation, and – as with another friend who had lost her father over Christmas, I feel desperately stuck, unable to know what to say or do that will make things better because there’s nothing really that I can do.

I plan to become more active again in the blog from today onwards, wanting to pick up where I left off in December. I have a few new thoughts and personal challenges for the New Year.
For interest sake, what’s yours?


The Longest Road.

More bad luck. More worry. More fear.

My horse is ill. Very.

I was supposed to work today, but by a strange coincidence and convenience my boss had forgotten to put me in for my usual Monday night shift. I was about to go home, silently relieved that I didn’t have to work, when Sumi called, her voice tight.

“I’m sorry to tell you this,” she had said. “But, Basjan is ill. My father just called. I’m still at work but I’m finishing up and will go to the farm. You have to phone the vet, get him to come out…”

I had listened to her words, but didn’t hear them immediately, the pain of panic that had flared up in my chest overwhelming. God help me, I thought quietly. Help him. I can’t loose him, not now. Not now. “I’ll go,” I said. “Immediately, but…” Afternoon traffic. Money. I didn’t have anything with me and going home would take time that I didn’t have… I didn’t say anything else, unable to work the words into existence. Instead, I leapt into my father’s pick up, because my car was still being repaired after last week’s mishap, and drove the agonizingly slow route to the farm. I hate traffic, hate driving and in those few moments, hated the world and everything in it that seemed to have turned against me.

10 miles had never felt so long.

We reached the farm together, Sumi and I, and found my horse standing in the shade, his flanks dark with sweat and his head low. He had a headache and hardly moved when we approached him. For once, I’d have given anything to see him run away from me as was his occasional habit or flinch at my touch, but he did nothing, his eyes closed to the world as he seemed to sway on his feet. But, he wasn’t down, not yet.

We gave him what we could, injected him with medication a vet had provided to us. Tomorrow morning early, before my next shift, I’ll go back and see if he’s alright. See if he’s still standing. Darkly, fearfully, see if he’s still alive.

If I loose him, I don’t know what will become of me.


One moment of not paying attention, of not thinking, of not looking and wham. Into another car. He’s got no damage but my car’s pretty banged up. Sigh. I can’t afford this sadly.
Think of me.

Doing the dishes.

I’m a terribly lazy bugger. Or a very busy one.

But a bugger none the less.

I have a habit of accumulating dishwashing. I’ll skip washing the dishes in the morning after breakfast, promising myself that I’ll do it in the afternoon. Then, I’ll skip lunch and forget about the dishes. But, right before work – I’ll remember that I have to eat to stop from fainting so I’ll quickly put something together, leaving my dishes for when I come back for work. Work is always tough (waitressing is an ungrateful job) so when I return home, I’m no in the mood for anything except my bed and most certainly not the dishes.

So, it will be left. For another day.
At the end of the day, I’m left with a mountain of dishes that I need to wash if I wish to continue eating. It’s very frustrating because then, something that would’ve taken five minutes ends up taking half an hour.

Correspondence, I’ve decided is like that. I’ve become very lazy in recent years to correspond to emails, friends and text messages in time. In the beginning, it had been depression that stopped me; I just didn’t have the strength to communicate with anybody. The correspondence mounted, and with it the time span between the letters. I started feeling guilty, unable to make myself start a letter that was long overdue and through that – make matters worse. The bitter truth is, I’ve realized, is that I’ve been neglecting my friends. And now, like that marathon dish washing attempt, I’m going to have to make a real effort to get back to terms with everybody.

So, starting today, I’m on a dishwashing correspondence campaign.

I started here, because I’m fairly up to date with my blog, lol, and I want to wish you all a Happy New Year.