The writing has taken a backseat lately while we prepared for our exhibition, Benthos Illuminated at Umbrella Studio Gallery. I enjoyed wading around in the shallows looking to see what I could see and taking photos with my cheap underwater camera. It was good to be painting regularly too even, if it cut into my writing time. That is up now, until April 10, so I can get back to the keyboard and finally get Jailbait posted.
At the end of Tough Like Donna we left Roz naively confident that everything was going to be alright now that she had acknowledged her sexuality and confessed her love for Donna. Of course it won’t be. It is impossible to keep secrets in a dormitory and once their secret is out they can expect to be vilified, at the very least. Roz will be expelled from boarding school, and separated from Donna.
In Tough Like Donna Roz was struggling with the universal teenage dilemmas of love, lifestyle and career. In Jailbait she has made her decisions, and must battle to achieve her goals, which will take willpower, determination and sheer hard work.
As usual I will put up the first chapter of Jailbait on this blog for you to read.
My real job (the one that pays me money, not like writing or painting) has slowed right down. We usually have a slowdown in December and into the new-year but this year the busy period wasn’t as busy as usual and the slowdown has come early and has lasted longer than usual.
I always feel that there is a disconnect between work and the rest of my life, but it is even stronger now that I’m working only one day a week.
I found myself on Monday morning going through a half-forgotten routine to get ready for work and then being plagued by doubts as I drove in. Was I even supposed to go in that day? Then I arrived, and walking through the front door was like going through some strange science fiction portal. I found myself in a place I knew intimately but which had no connection to me.
I did my duties in a kind of a daze. Only a part of my mind was engaged in what I was doing. Another part was outside, dispassionately observing. I thought that this would make a good subject for a blog.
Then this morning (Wednesday) I tried to remember what I had thought about. It was hard to bring back the idea for this post. It’s like my Monday head doesn’t talk to my regular self and even now I can’t clearly recall the feeling that inspired this. The sense of being drunk or drugged or not quite there seems to be confined to Mondays and I can’t access it the rest of the time.
I probably shouldn’t post this. I fear that I have probably let out more than I should, and the nice men in the white coats will be here any minute to take me away. What the hell. The whole point of this blog was to let people know who I am and how I think. If I leave out anything too awkward it won’t be real, or meaningful.