Yesterday was one of those days that could have been awful but was really, really good. I was awoken at 6 by my little sis's mate wanting a story (I stayed in their room due to fears over the return of Voldemort.)  Later,  I was working at a Hornbeam event, the 21st birthday party of the cafe.  It was extremely busy, with a complicated system whereby we had to give customers tickets for the barbeque outside.  The Hornbeam is small and people kept shifting tables.  The system became hectic pretty fast, and the coffee list was backed up like mad and, considering our customers are the most patient in the world, it was unnerving when a few of them asked where their meals were!  Shu came in to see me around 3.30.  She'd cycled from Willesden down to Tottenham Hale, then fallen off her bike and given herself a proper zombie-style battering- bleeding knee, scraped wrists, shoulder... all kindly patched up by a pharmacist with complementary TCP.  I kind of wanted to leave at 4 but Rachel asked for some help getting things sorted, so, with tips in my back pocket (most unexpected!) I helped tidy up the until 6.  After that, Shu and I went to the pub- Nag's Head, in the Village, joined by my sis S, and had a pretty good night complete with pizza and booze for Shu's injuries. Later, back here at Gran's, I met my uncle's potential new girlfriend, who knew me when I was a very small little one.  She's lovely. It was, altogether, a satisfying day/night.


I'm in a bit of a blip, the recognition of which I am hoping will help me pull through it.  I dream dismantled blades and broken words.  I know, beneath everything else, that I am really not a good person.  That makes me feel very sad.

Today I woke up and stayed in bed.  Then Dad and I went for a run, a good 12k with some speed work and conversation (I was proud of being able to form sentences at 12k/h.)  Running and working... something challenging, almost punishing, bringing tears to the back of my skull.  Forcing the emotion to be related to the physical, to real stresses, real pains, real breaths.  Forget the yogi and their focus on slow breathing- give me the barely gasped city air, the sting in my throat, the itch in my eyes.  Swollen balloon lungs.  Complete absorption in the necessity of breathing fast, not the luxury of breathing slowly.

The other, painless bright spot, is looking after little K.  Her directed smiles and her fascination with fridge magnets.  *Love*

***

I dreamt I was falsely accused of stealing the crown jewels. The queen and her guard were going to kill me in an aircraft so I moved to the Phillipenes, where a hairdresser smothered my curls in Nutella and honey and wrapped them up to make them pretty.  Then Emma Watson became queen and hired the Spice Girls as court jesters.  Four of them performed in a huge swimming pool, while Mel C insisted repeatedly that she was not, and had never been, at all sporty... and could not swim.