Thoughts of a minibus traveller

Sitting in the minibus and trying to recover from the quarrels with the patients which should not have happened if I was fully present and competent to deal with the needs of the patients, and I realise that the bus has long passed where I wanted to get off. Feeling tired, thinking this is the payment for the sin of quarreling with patients who are weaker and thinking that is not as bad as when , in dealing with another set of anxieties I put the pan on the stove put on the fire and leave the water which is not inside to boil. Walking back to the place where I wanted to get off the minibus, is easier, not so frightening as smelling the burning and realising that I did not put water in the pot. I feel the shock , knowing that I have to take stock. I have to stop playing over the unexpected conversation with the loved one who had been shunning, and who has resumed shunning me as I burnt the dry pot in the conversations and post conversation emails in not listening attentively ...

Dead people Rain is drizzling and I am feeling lazy. It is a Saturday afternoon and I think I could lie in bed and have a nice nap. But I think it would look bad if I don't go to the writers' meeting. That if everybody said they wanted to stay home in bed then what was the point of me encouraging the writers to meet up periodically to discuss their work.  This meeting was going to be the first 'working' meeting , which I am not good at.. previous meetings were to talk about how the writers gatherings could go,, talk which I am good at doing I think I would stay an hour because I don't really have anything to say.. and I didn't bring anything for others to review. I reach the venue, go in. A few people are already there despite the rain. I admire the spirit. I  feel slightly guilty of the sleeping in the bed thing in the rain. I am always inspired by people's pursuit of their passions and dedication.  I don't really watch cricket but find i...

The Guyana Press Association and the British High Commission held a workshop on reporting to prevent suicide. The GPA held a similar workshop in April 2016 at a time when Guyana was becoming famous as the suicide capital' of the world. The workshop was held on 20 July, 2019. The GPA invited me to participate in the workshop in a collaborative session with Dr Paloma Mohammed around the impact of media reporting. I was not able to present or participate properly due to my own mental health issues. In thinking back about the workshop and the discussions, I felt that I would have done a presentation with a title 'Moving from suicide reporting to telling stories about mental health and wellness in Guyana'. I agreed with a journalist in the session who said there was no need to report on individual suicides. I have noticed a drop in the reporting, but there are still problems when the reports are done. The GPA is working on guidelines. I had written the following...

"Is what you doing now.. is a long time we aint picket" the man asked me. My head was down, trying to sort out what I had to buy and to do so quickly.  The man was wearing orange sneakers. bright orange sneakers. He had on three quarter length pants, tee shirt. The first time the man and I had met me about 10 years ago, he was wearing a brown suit, and a white hard hat helmet. He had asked me if I was Vidyaratha Kissoon and I was worried that he might attack me. He asked me twice, both times pronouncing my name correctly. The only other person to do that was my secondary school English teacher.  He had told me he read my letters in the papers. Another time I saw him, he was cursing loudly, raging. People were staying far from him. "When was the last time.. oh yes, for that chap that get kill.. you see, I remember you..".. The last time I saw him was in 2016 and he was wearing a brown suit and was complaining about GECOM and local government elections. Ther...

1pm. Place hot, quiet. Road empty as it is around this time on week days. Minibus moving slow.  Man driving.  Woman conducting.  Bag of oranges hang up on the back of the front seat. No passengers I jump in the front seat.  Say good afternoon, and hear the response.. quiet and slow like the afternoon. No music. Bus moving slow to get passengers. I smell the citrus. Not like air freshner. Nice cloud coming up. I think these must be oranges and limes and so mix up. Man murmuring.. anybody coming deh? She going.. Women replying softly.. nah.. nobody.. she aint going..  Is nice how they talking to each other. I wonder if they are together because I know some other married men and women who working bus who order each other around.. 'Girl, you gotta look where you going.' Aye don't drive the bus yet.. 'Where we buying food today..'.. you know they married because the lovey dovey stuff don't talk and is only bus business. Bus driving slow.. like...

Image from here . Evening chores in progress. Some time lapse as I have to wait between two sets of chores. I could go sit down and look out the window. I am shaking my back a bit as I walk, and I realise that there isn't as much pain as usual. I have not had pain tablets. I had two B complex. I was scared to go down on the old bed sheet to do the yoga routine earlier in the day. Previous attempts had failed as I could not go through. Today though, I  was able to go through most of the yoga asanas  though not reaching full stretches for most of them. But still.. better than nothing. I think right, while I wait.. let me see,s the surya namaskar Just one round or two rounds, I know that my foot no longer comes up as it used to and I would feel disappointed.  I used to do 36 rounds in the morning. Aum Mitraya Namah  I bend forward, my back is stiff and my fingers are not reaching the ground. I think, arite.. is just two rounds.. bend the knee, and go...

Body is flushed after doing the house work and even though it is raining, place not so cold. Mind is in turmoil as I try to sort out the things to be done.. thinking of what has to come after the shower. The shame is there that I can longer do the paid uncaring work with the unpaid caring work. The embarrassment of saying no to work which I would like to have done, because of the work which I cannot do but have to do, and the anger at myself for not switching modes, for not finding patterns, for not organising things. For not putting things into compartments so that I could be productive and unproductive so that I could recover to be productive again.  But I am always recovering, never recovered and I have not accepted as yet that this is the life, or end of life before I expected it. The anxiety of cooking , cooking food which might not be eaten, in favour of things which are wanted but not there because I forgot to buy them... and forgetting other things which have to be...