On the brink

It just seems that everything is just about to happen, but it isn’t happening just quite yet. On all fronts, there seems to be a tentative pause; it’s like a bit of a tease, so close but yet, not quite there. It is truly frustrating. Is it better than a pregnant pause I wonder? Rather than a restless feeling, it’s more a numbness which I think I actually prefer because it is generally calmer. This I take it is another lesson in patience, one I am exhaustively fed up of!

Thankfully, when all else fails, I have my music to soothe me. I would really rather have my solitude but that is one more thing on the brink and not quite all there, not yet though I can but taste it.

Hitting a blank

The calm before the storm maybe? It’s been quiet, calm, uninspiring and altogether dull, like coming to a decided stop at a block wall that cannot be navigated or moved. Normally, this sort of lull is weathered uneventfully, not necessarily easily; but something seems to be amiss this time, something making it all very uneasy and pregnant with anxiety. It’s as though when the lull eventually breaks, there will be a great big explosion, splattering messy goo everywhere. Or to put it in context, it’s like a writer with a deadline but plagued with writers block or an expectant mother in her final trimester, with just days to go before the birth. There isn’t much you can do but wait for events to unfold, the length of wait is completely unknown and the outcome even more mysterious. It is a maddening interlude because there is no way around it, this big blank block wall.

Whatever happens though, it is understood that the time will pass and there will be actions to follow outcomes. The thing is, when things start to happen, it is all go and you forget how fretful the relatively short wait was. With the new mother, there are sleepless nights to look forward to; it is much the same with the writer. But as demanding as things get, you never miss the quiet lull, and all the activity usually means progress. Still, looking at the solid, blank block wall is maddening, surely nothing a good book, good music, or lunch with a friend cannot cure I should think.

Fly in the ointment

This means “A small but irritating flaw that spoils the whole thing”. But think of it from the point of view of the poor fly, stuck in a thick, sticky substance, unable to move, wings probably stuck in said substance and fallen off, so even if it got out of that sticky situation, it would never again be able to fly.

This is how I am beginning to feel, like a fly in some ointment. Not only am I spoiling the “whole thing”, I am unable to move and the more I try, the more damage I seem to be causing myself and to the ointment. I am quickly being sapped of all that positive energy and optimistic outlook I have hitherto been full of. Perhaps lack of a good nights sleep is instrumental in this latest depressed state after holding my head above water for so long. Even at the best of times, sleep depravation is never a pleasant thing.

The other factor is the ointment itself. I am trying as hard as possible not to mess up this ointment, I didn’t want to find myself in it but here I am. I fear I will soon be scooped up and dumped unceremoniously into the bin in an attempt to salvage the situation. But I am not a fly and I cannot/will not lose my wings. And who knows, if and when I get out of this ointment, I may have acquired some of the medicinal properties of it and use it for good. See, there, that is some of that optimism still shining through, so not all is lost. As the blog states, it is still swings and round abouts, there are some good things as well as all this mess.

This is the season for flies anyway. They are a bit of a nuisance but they still do serve a very important purpose. So even though they buzz around and cause great irritation, they are only about for one season and they would be greatly missed if they ever all go away.