darkness

almost seventeen hours of it each day. I am wrung out from over much driving with the low slanted sun blinding me and the window washer not working - six hours of that - ah poor me. But all this way to be a mentee and for that I am delighted. This writing needs guidance - others to show us the way. Living almost in the artic archipeligo long drives are necessary for most things. Take not the local Pilates class for granted yea who live where others live also! While in Inverness today, enjoying cappuccino(she doesn't get out much!) prior to meeting my mentor I longingly perused a brochure on a Pilates class. Next to writing and running and a bit of therapy thrown in now and again nothing does it quite like Pilates. I was even considering driving 100 miles to suck in the core and pull up my pelvis floor but after the strain of driving and peering hunched up through a dirty windscreen I probably won't.
now home after the dirty window trip and partner wants to go out - another fifty miles or so and I can't quite face it. I see his disappointment and I feel old and I know sometimes the renewing comes in the saying yes, having now learnt to say no. And I find myself at almost fifty years of age having just bought (not intentionally, it just happened to have the extras) a little zooped up car with alloys, spoiler, and four very throaty exhausts and a gear stick that twinkles red! The car is green and too noisy but I didn't say no. Did I say I have learnt that no lesson? Ha-ha! Listen as I pass, somewhere far north of Inverness, roaring the single track roads in search of cappucino and pilates! The dirty windscreen - that was old car - that was Audi on her last day out. A life in the banger derby awaits her then crushed to a sheet.
I have a wonderful blog friend who describes her life as being in the slow lane. I veer; sometimes it is sea and sky and beach and dog and writing and fresh air and the speed is as fast as feet move. At other times it is over taking every slow coach on the A9 and doing many things and juggling coloured balls high in the air. And on those days, where the windscreen makes the world a place of muck, the lure of the slow lane is calling.