Dear Diary,
As we leave the first fortnight of this month behind, waving it goodbye with a sense of sentimentality (we’ve lived through a five-day week at work), my gaze turns to what is next.
Certain as anything, Blue Monday' is creeping towards me. Loud, uncompromising, self-assured knocks against a new build, white-ish door. I’ll hold my breath, pretending to be out, back against the cold wall of an otherwise moderately warm house. But the fifteenth of January is a committed fellow. He doesn’t flinch, unmoved by my reluctance to meet him face to face. In fact, he moves closer, presses his ear to the ornate door and calls out my name.
‘Siya? I know you’re in there. It’s Monday. It’s normally a depressing day, but today? Today’s special! Today’s the most depressing day of the year. So, come on! What are you waiting for? Open and we can get this party started.’
I keep still, hand over my mouth to muffle the irregularity of my breathing. For dear life, I hold onto the lie I’ve now set in motion. The dogs trot towards me and I ‘shhhh’ them, finger suitably placed across my dry lips. What alternative do I have? Climb the stairs quiet as a mouse, and then, making a point about it, descend them with trips and falls, and profanities to accompany this charade? Nah.
‘There really is no use in hiding. And if you’re cooking up something, like pretending you’ve been in the shower, forget it. I can see right through this crap. I wasn’t born yesterday; people have hated me for a long time and tried any old trick’.
Sigh. Remove the chain, unlock, press down on the handle – et voilà!
‘Finally. Ready?’
‘Born ready …’
The Week’s Round-Up
This fictional anecdote aside, Dear Diary, my soul is elevated. For the next eight hours, I’m a happy lass! I’ll deal with Monday when he shows up but, until then, I shall bask in the glory of what has occurred so far throughout January. Synchronicity? One good deed follows another, and so on and so forth.
I may have forgotten to tell you. On Tue, 4th Jan, I walked to the local library; a brisk, determined walk on my lunch break (I’m trying to establish a habit!) to return a book – one I hadn’t even finished, but this is a different story altogether – and asked, on the off chance, whether a writing group existed either in town, or somewhere close by. To my astonishment, the librarian said ‘Yes! It’s reconvening on Friday, 12th Jan. Free of charge, too!’.
I couldn’t believe my ears. Among my greatest challenges, obstacles if you wish, to my writing progress has been the lack of people in my circle who read and write; a community that I can start sharing my work with and, in return, being exposed to theirs. I’d spent long hours, researching online writing groups, and writing groups that I’d need to drive in order to attend. Not in a million years, did I think an already formed writing club was right here, on my doorstep. I’d almost given up but, out of nowhere, the Universe handed me this gift.
Of course, on the day itself, I nearly backed out. I was nervous, too nervous for some odd reason but, in the end, I snapped out of it, packed a bag with a few essentials and took myself to the venue. One foot in front of the other, in the hope I wouldn’t look like a fool.
Like a fool I did look! Objectively-speaking, I was the worst writer in a group of seven (including the lead and his partner). Everyone’s prose was sharp and impactful, while mine was dull and flat. Apart from this teeny-weeny detail, it was fantastic! They were all incredibly friendly, and, oh boy, did we write! I look forward to our next meet on Friday, 19th Jan!
My reading efforts in 2023 were abysmal. Thirteen books. I managed to read thirteen books (and, while now I have a better appreciation for the craft of writing, from a purely reader’s perspective, none of them blew me away). It’s my intention to do better this year (nothing will ever beat the seventy-five books I read in 2021; that was quite something!). I’ve not done brilliantly, as of now, but I’m reading.
Rightly or wrongly, though, I’ve been focusing on reading as a writer. Thoughts, Dear Diary? Is this a recipe for losing sight of the magic that surrounds reading? The analytical hat, a real killjoy! Or will it be beneficial for both my reading and writing journeys alike? I’ll wait for you to get back to me …
The Little Things
I’m drinking out of my special mug. You’re allowed to shake your head in despair but, entering 2024, I’m prepared to own up the rituals, as insignificant as they may appear to someone else, that bring me inner peace and joy.
Coffee at the weekend is bliss. It’s the only time I can fully enjoy it. Such a difference from the normality of it being a rushed affair. From Monday to Friday, often, when I bring the mug to my lips, the steam from the beverage has evaporated, nowhere to be seen. The coffee is cold (and cold coffee is vile!). Saturdays and Sundays allow me to immerse myself in the fabulous experience that is drinking a hot cup of coffee, truly indulge in it.
It’s the little things.