How long will it take for the bleeding to stop?

-2°C, light snow, very grey skies C=54 miles


Cycling: was about looking for an open cafe. All four of the main ones in Market Bosworth were shut for the post-festive break. They’re to stay shut for at least a week it seems – Pah!. It’s been one cold ride, though only my feet really complained. I was very thirsty by the time I got back: the drinks bottle was frozen: that stopped the flow. Inside were large flakes of ice, like a Slush-puppy, which blocked the nozzle.
Incident: I had an unfortunate incident with a bread knife today.Cutting a baguette, it kind of ricochetted and caught my thumb. That was hours ago, but it really smarts now. Marilyn Manson was playing on the iPod at the time: I suspect a connection there.

Passed

0°C, clearing, becalmed. 30.0 miles


Cold feet, but that’s all. The sun broke out later but was very weak. It went away not long later.

A normal Sunday

12°C, light cloud. C=48 miles.


Good cycling conditions. Bed is built, and the washing machine arrives tomorrow. On a domestication roll. Better think about some Christmas shopping soon; it’s always plagued with anxiety about missing someone. Get a surplus in case.
The car alarm is going off for no good reason.

axle wasn’t broken

-1°C, Fog


Such a tiny piece of metal that failed on Wednesday. That’s all it took to force me to walk home. I was expecting to find worse after the wheel refusing to turn and the rest. I can draw conclusions from seeing that fracture, but still can’t confidently say how the fault developed.

Signal left

9°C, nearly dry, NW winds


How can this happen: stretch an arm out left to signal on a roundabout, and OUCH! Suddenly my back wrenches with muscular pain. It must have been quietly taut for days, but this sudden movement found it. Now I can’t do stuff. I haven’t had backache for most of this year.
What’s left to do; finish that letter, and this could be the excuse to finish reading that book. No painting tonight, I can’t even sit cross legged- ouch!

Don’t cool down too fast

9°C, dry & windy.


Cooling down takes a some good judgement. Cool too fast and you go too far, but getting back to normal is then more work. In short; I’m cold.
Ikea pasta for supper, it’s different, denser and easier to eat with chop-sticks.
Aubade

work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what’s really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.
Arid interrogation: yet the dread
Of dying, and being dead,
Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.
The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse
– The good not done, the love not given, time
Torn off unused – nor wretchedly because
An only life can take so long to climb
Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never;
But at the total emptiness for ever,
The sure extinction that we travel to
And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,
Not to be anywhere,
And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.
 
This is a special way of being afraid
No trick dispels. Religion used to try,
That vast, moth-eaten musical brocade
Created to pretend we never die,
And specious stuff that says No rational being
Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing
That this is what we fear – no sight, no sound,
No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,
Nothing to love or link with,
The anasthetic from which none come round.
 
And so it stays just on the edge of vision,
A small, unfocused blur, a standing chill
That slows each impulse down to indecision.
Most things may never happen: this one will,
And realisation of it rages out
In furnace-fear when we are caught without
People or drink. Courage is no good:
It means not scaring others. Being brave
Lets no one off the grave.
Death is no different whined at than withstood.
 
Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.
It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,
Have always known, know that we can’t escape,
Yet can’t accept. One side will have to go.
Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring
In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring
Intricate rented world begins to rouse.
The sky is white as clay, with no sun.
Work has to be done.
Postmen like doctors go from house to house.
 
Philip Larkin

Should I/shouldn’t I

9°C, wind, rain, sun & dark dark clouds


Cycling: forced by the stormy showers to hesitate.
If I go out, it will rain, if I stay in the sun will come out.

William Fitzsimmons* has finally released an album, but it appears to be unavailable here in the UK/.
*Follow the link to the Facebook page for plenty of samples.

Inhibit seratonin reuptake

7°C, breezy, bright & Fresh, c 51 miles


What a contrast: today rode for 3 hours, and no resting. I’m warm (it’s 3°C outside & falling), settled and comfortable. Yesterday, I didn’t & wasn’t.
This is the key to a level mind. This week is very much colder than the same last year, cold is tiring, drys you out, and soporific.

Now I have a hill to climb, but not yet going upwards.

That was…

3°C, winter proper. C=36 miles,


Cycling: not that far, but swept away cobwebs from yesterday. Painted pictures to give away today, they’ve been given, and no photos of them here so there!