Testing, testing, testing... social exposure experiment number 2.
It just so happened that it should fall close to the last one but how do we know what winds will take us onwards or what currents to join with as we flow through our own tiniest little tributary that meets all the others coursing through time and place?
Particularly when displacement feels so profound and complete that you wonder if any previous sense of place was merely a dream or, of course, an entire fabrication built on shifting sands.

These undertakings seem so entirely absurd in some respects and so entirely, ‘well, what else am I supposed to do?’

I am aware all the time that I am both consciously and unconsciously sitting on this turbulent period, this rent in my fabric. Although I try not to relive, it seems determined to rumble away at a tectonic level.

And so I do stuff. At points today I wondered what on Earth I was thinking of. I could walk from home, visit somewhere local, rest, read (hah!), do the garden, etc, etc. But I guess it is also about, something different, a place I have wanted to go to, the weather being favourable, some local knowledge and a long followed poetry interest, and the challenge of managing it, both logistically and socially. I had thought I might camp and took my tent (with the van out of action) but wanted to get home. I probably should have stayed to make more of it but lost the impetus and was hugely tired heading home and thinking of having a quieter day before work again.

And so I am caught between a feeling of physical exhaustion and lack of sleep (any brief improvements last week quickly dissipated once back at work) and trying not to stagnate, trying not to be the flapping fish in a drying out tributary becoming increasingly cut off from the river of life and the living.