This has been a week or so of crisis - chiefly financial. The short-term issues (not enough money until next payment - due end of February - if M finishes the b*&^(dy report.) were resolved by cash from my father and sister C, and a cheque from sister P. This means I can buy mince and catfood without panicking unduly. The boys don't seem to mind the regime of beans, corncakes and endless pasta... well, Ned's not crazy about beans - but he can cope... it is amazing how far the contents of the freezer will go - although I did succumb last week and bought some frozen chicken breast and this week I bought some mince (2 meals) and a chicken (I need the bones for stock - we are living off soup just now). Actually, I made a great discovery - chicken livers, a small amount, finely-chopped, make a good addition to meatballs - Finn had a yearning for spagh and meatballs, so I made some for tomorrow - used the rest of the mince for bolognese - to be frozen for 1 lasagne and 1 spag bol.
My anxieties about money have been relieved in many ways - some things have come as an answer to prayer - like a rush job for Mark which will cover the cost of the tax bill... But it is appalling how paralysed one becomes with anxiety. When there's a crisis, I am of course, superbly calm and rational and plan furiously what to do - and do it. But I don't seem to be able to cope with the permacrisis/omnishambles that our life has been in the last 2 years. I'm sure it has roots that go beyond that - I probably started taking my eye off the domestic ball once I started writing all the time. I've spent nearly 4 years in a fuge state that I find it hard to leave. Is it the hypnotic effect of the screen - or the completely unintellectual drift of my brain as it delves into intuitive/creative bits - making actually, dreary old frontal brain thinking seem rather boring. All the time I find myself thinking how I've limited myself in my writing, how I could write so much more, open up more, look at things I don't want to look at, be so much more extraordinary. But I am plugged into my relatively "ordinary" novels - and maybe that's where I'll do best. If I wrote something strange and extraordinary, it might never get published (although, to date, the ordinary ones haven't either). I really must start sending out TRF again - when Tara has finished mulling it over!
My anxieties about money have been relieved in many ways - some things have come as an answer to prayer - like a rush job for Mark which will cover the cost of the tax bill... But it is appalling how paralysed one becomes with anxiety. When there's a crisis, I am of course, superbly calm and rational and plan furiously what to do - and do it. But I don't seem to be able to cope with the permacrisis/omnishambles that our life has been in the last 2 years. I'm sure it has roots that go beyond that - I probably started taking my eye off the domestic ball once I started writing all the time. I've spent nearly 4 years in a fuge state that I find it hard to leave. Is it the hypnotic effect of the screen - or the completely unintellectual drift of my brain as it delves into intuitive/creative bits - making actually, dreary old frontal brain thinking seem rather boring. All the time I find myself thinking how I've limited myself in my writing, how I could write so much more, open up more, look at things I don't want to look at, be so much more extraordinary. But I am plugged into my relatively "ordinary" novels - and maybe that's where I'll do best. If I wrote something strange and extraordinary, it might never get published (although, to date, the ordinary ones haven't either). I really must start sending out TRF again - when Tara has finished mulling it over!
I pleased to hear that you have some winter sunshine turning your coppers into bright new £1 coins!
ReplyDeleteThank you - I hope I won't be too dazzled by it!
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