Sunday, day of rest. Or something like that.
Chris Martin at the BBC crooning, "in my place, in my place...how long must I wait for it...come back and sing to me"
I'm singing along, badly. We all know I can't sing but my dog does not mind, in fact, to him it's music because his mummy is home and he can bug her to throw a ball to his little furry heart's content. Not that his mistress is amused but you take the lovies where you can get it.
A week ago, a post full of resignation. Not a commentary on anything, just some introspection. Lot of that going on lately. Asking, what if, why not, maybe...a word filled with infinite promise. Crap, my download speed has just stopped speeding and slowed to a trickle and Coldplay is reduced to stops and starts. Yes, I confess, it was You Tube that I was "watching". Technology not always working for us in the third world.
So I took the post down. Because I couldn't stand to have it up anymore. Not because the person was close, or because the subject matter was distasteful. Because it simply did not matter anymore. Recently an artist friend did a body of work on crime in Trinidad. She put a lot of thought, effort and time into it. She is my friend, she is someone I care about, I went to see her work. I admired her passion, wished that many more people could have seen it. But truthfully, realised that while I supported her, it was her show, her opinion, her passion. Not mine. Sure there is bad stuff happening here, bad things happen everywhere, it is how we cope, how we acknowledge and the things we do to change or not as the case might be. She's doing what she can, as am I.
I write about things. Another friend takes pictures and yet another gets out and crusades. We are what we are. This morning with Chris crooning there is a part of me that wants to re-affirm that I'm living.....