Journaling,bucket lists,Russian tea time
Well my memory and feeling seems to have really gone,I cope,I'm in okay spirits.I'm glad for my journaling,I've been looking up journal prompts and doing them,and writing out coping things.
Poetry is not really effecting me,nor the bohemian life I was in love with a week or two ago,I think it's the damage,I'm not sure.I wish I could put on a period film,have a hot bath with parfum oils,drink some real fortnums tea,bake some melting moments,have him return and paint a self portrait.Oh I would really love that,I wish I could feel the joy of that and I wish everything was just flying high in me again.
I don't feel sad but I'm yearning desperately for things to be as they were,when I could feel things and think things.I hope people realise how incredibly lucky they are,I have only vague notions and memories of what I loved more than anything and lived for.
Part of the journaling prompts was to write a bucket list,mine truly is in hindsight if my life wasn't torn asunder written below:
I thought maybe completing my novels - The hawk and the Harper,Bridewood Asylum,The daughter of Ivor,The legends of wistow hall,The Vienna book,The English fairy tale book etc.I thought I'd put that on the once wished for bucket list but I can barely remember them today and they are now impossible to write(weep),though I think even before they were beyond me.Im like chaos itself a creative generating force but to truly form it into things requires more than chaotic creative energy.I don't generate anything now,too much blankness and loss.But my soul stirs.I must believe I will get rest and heal,I've never longed for true sleep more,it would restore so much.I feel like I'm back at square one.Films don't evoke anything for me since the damage,but Danish girl was and a few others were improving and I was happier,but now it's all flat again.Truly without feeling one is a corpse,I never realised now that a life felt is what it's all about.Where there is tea,there is certainly hope.Gosh I love tea and I'm back to loving him,I had my moment of red but it seems I love the other one,I would love him always and make him shortbread with a pot of fortnums Russian caravan tea.How splendid does that sound.Oh another life where I live in my cottage and cook,read,sing and so much less woe.I am asking little of myself for the time being,not to write epic poems or understand everything,or expect my fragile mind to flourish but to let the time be what it is and for many hours I leave everything off and dwell.
Poetry is not really effecting me,nor the bohemian life I was in love with a week or two ago,I think it's the damage,I'm not sure.I wish I could put on a period film,have a hot bath with parfum oils,drink some real fortnums tea,bake some melting moments,have him return and paint a self portrait.Oh I would really love that,I wish I could feel the joy of that and I wish everything was just flying high in me again.
I don't feel sad but I'm yearning desperately for things to be as they were,when I could feel things and think things.I hope people realise how incredibly lucky they are,I have only vague notions and memories of what I loved more than anything and lived for.
Part of the journaling prompts was to write a bucket list,mine truly is in hindsight if my life wasn't torn asunder written below:
- See swan lake at the ballet in st Petersburg in a sautior and ivory velvet dress
- See sleeping beauty,the ballet in England
- See A midsummer night's dream by Shakespeare in England
- Have afternoon tea at Buckland manor or some tea rooms in the English countryside
- Go to fortnum and masons
- Go to Liberty
- visit country houses in the UK
- Live in a little cottage in Nova Scotia
- Get married with portraits behind antique fabric,a handmade dress etc
- Go on my own tour of Britain and Vienna and a visit in Eire,a month in Russia
- Have a white Christmas
- Write a book of poetry
- Do an MA in Celtic Studies with the university of Wales
- Paint some self portraits and portraits of those I love
- Go on a train ride through Europe (somewhat did this)
- Make a costume or sew my own dress
I thought maybe completing my novels - The hawk and the Harper,Bridewood Asylum,The daughter of Ivor,The legends of wistow hall,The Vienna book,The English fairy tale book etc.I thought I'd put that on the once wished for bucket list but I can barely remember them today and they are now impossible to write(weep),though I think even before they were beyond me.Im like chaos itself a creative generating force but to truly form it into things requires more than chaotic creative energy.I don't generate anything now,too much blankness and loss.But my soul stirs.I must believe I will get rest and heal,I've never longed for true sleep more,it would restore so much.I feel like I'm back at square one.Films don't evoke anything for me since the damage,but Danish girl was and a few others were improving and I was happier,but now it's all flat again.Truly without feeling one is a corpse,I never realised now that a life felt is what it's all about.Where there is tea,there is certainly hope.Gosh I love tea and I'm back to loving him,I had my moment of red but it seems I love the other one,I would love him always and make him shortbread with a pot of fortnums Russian caravan tea.How splendid does that sound.Oh another life where I live in my cottage and cook,read,sing and so much less woe.I am asking little of myself for the time being,not to write epic poems or understand everything,or expect my fragile mind to flourish but to let the time be what it is and for many hours I leave everything off and dwell.
Total Comments 0
