Yellow Plastic Eggcup

Yesterday I had a moment of clarity which came from unearthing an old yellow plastic eggcup which I realised came from my childhood. Some momentary trauma connected the eggcup with a buried memory. Why do I keep all this crap? I often ask myself. I suddenly knew, without a shadow of a doubt, the answer.

To remember the things that were suppressed.

Sometimes it can be shocking remembering, though. You never know what will emerge.

Yesterday I shook a little, at the childhood violence I remembered that I had experienced.

I don’t panic much, thankfully. After a while I was laughing, and I was so glad of the love I have in my life. On the surface, I’d been privately brooding a bit since getting back from Palestine, weighing up the salient elements of my life, and I’ve come to some conclusions this week based on practical as well as emotional considerations.

A little while back, I said I wanted to get into something real. I now know that process will be enabled by moving out of this trendy district of London months before I have been planning to do so. Today I went and bought storage boxes and GGF and I started looking at the map.

I awoke with another cold. London is for a change fucking freezing, and so is this place, as the boiler is busted, but I don’t care now. We’re going north.