Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Reflexology, religion and guilt

A dull day in the office today. Most people were out in the morning and I was the only chicken left for a while. Last one out turn the lights off, eh?... Managed to get some more minutes sorted and continued reading about religions and higher education. Today’s focus: Christianity. The content of the brochure didn’t fill me with much confidence though, especially as the writer appeared to be splitting hairs between the religion of Jesus (aka live as the historical Jesus lived) and the religion about Jesus (aka live with Jesus as an inner spiritual presence). Well, that’ll muddle the pew-dwellers for sure. Ye gods, what’s wrong with having both? Why does everything have to be an either/or situation? And what the hell does it all mean anyway?? I know I’m not very keen on the whole Christianity circus right now, but even I know that’s not an issue that keeps the Pope (or indeed the Archbishop) awake at night. It makes me wonder about the accuracy of the other brochures though …

Anyway, the desert of the day was punctuated by the oasis of reflexology at lunchtime. Much-needed bliss. Wish the therapist might be able to make me feel better about the ruddy publishing world, as well as physically, while she’s at it. But I accept that may well be beyond her remit, or even skills.

Tonight, it’s our first Goldenford (http://www.goldenford.co.uk) meeting of 2007, and I’m supposed to be doing the minutes as usual. But I have to admit that I really don’t feel up to it at the moment, as yesterday’s rejection winded me and I’m still feeling raw – and not only that but my last half hour at work was spent having something of a contretemps with a colleague, which left me feeling pulped. Not that I did the sensible thing and said something reasonable about it at the time though – no, being me, I went for the laugh it off and lie option, so I now feel doubly shit. And at home, I’ve been hit by a wave of depression (hurrah – what a jolly evening I’m having, folks!) so I’m really not capable of going out tonight. Luckily one of my fellow Goldenford directors has said she’ll take minutes - so thank you hugely, Irene (http://www.thisthatfromireneblack.blogspot.com). However, I am still overcome with guilt at not going when I really should. Oh well, Dr Tim in the depression book tells me that guilt is better than resentment or exhaustion, so I suppose I’ll just have to live with it.

Oh, and I’ve written my first piece of flash fiction for a long time – which feels okay. Haven’t done that for months, possibly years. At least it makes me feel like I’m being creative in a fictional sense, rather than staring at my novel and weeping at the hopelessness of it all. Bloody hell, never say I don’t over-emote. Anyway, here is the piece:

Telephone list:
When the phone rang, she smiled. He always rang on Fridays. Today his call was not unwelcome. Stepping over congealing blood and just a hint of smashed bone, she picked up the receiver. ‘Good morning. May I help you?’ After a pause, she spoke again. ‘Oh yes. You were next on my list of people to see,’ she said. ‘Do come round.’

Oh, and for good measure, here’s another one:

The lesson:

‘What do you mean you don’t have the instructions?’ Grimes hissed, glancing at the couples passing by on the lane only a few yards away. Miranda felt her face redden. ‘I thought you had them,’ she whispered. ‘Aren’t you always telling me you’ll take care of the technical stuff?’ ‘Yes, but …’ he paused and she watched spittle form at the corners of his mouth. ‘How are we going to get the stash if we don’t know where it’s hidden?’ ‘I dunno,’ she shrugged. ‘We’ll have to search for it, I suppose.’ With a sigh, Grimes leaned over and began to rummage in the nearest dustbin. ‘Stupid cow,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll teach you a lesson later for sure.’ Miranda just smiled and felt her fingers close round the cold, metal bar in her pocket.

Today’s nice things (you see, Elle – I remembered!):

1. Reflexology
2. Writing two pieces of flash fiction
3. Not being at work right now.

Anne Brooke

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