Dear book..

Dear book
Touching and picking up and putting back you.. the National Library is full of books I want to read. I am moving slow. Fog swirling in my head and trying not to feel worse. Big task to be done and I can't do it. Feeling sick.

Remembering when I had things organised so that I could enjoy you. I had dreams of the space, and how to do it
 Of not feeling that I had to steal time. Remembering when I thought I could design things better so that I could go through shelf by shelf. When time would have been my own.

I have had to abandon you many times when my mind could not focus on you. Instead of adapting and adjusting to the circumstances which never changed and to the prison of my own making, I had to let go of you.

Every time I spend with you now, I feel guilty because I think I should be making up for the other lost times. I should not be reading you but should be dealing with the things which have not been done.

I look at you though. I think of all the things that I had thought I fixed and built , but which are broken.  I decide, I will spend hours with you. Do nothing else. The guilt is there. But guilt will always be there. The clouds are always there, they are not going away. The frustration at not sorting things out will not go away.

But I will spend hours with  you anyway, just to pretend that I can control things. Cover to cover. I will have to move from place to place and not think of the dreams of having one place.



For a few hours though, I was able to go somewhere else.  Even though I have not really left and nothing has changed.

Thanks though.