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smokingbootA terrible night, my mind awake and anxiously leaping from trivia to trivia. Why?
There is a meeting tonight. The last one exhausted me within 2 hours. I'm worried, not least because I genuinely don't want to go anywhere. I need sleep and then...
And then what?
Whatever the case is with Poor Donkey Body, I cannot become more of a recluse than I have been. I like people, but my alone times are intense and necessary. My issue is that I severely overestimated my ability to keep going or, let's be more accurate, I pushed myself throughout the year, did things, achieved things, until I had nothing left and here I am. I see friends today, I take a break, I see friends at the weekend. Everything I am meant to be doing remains undone, on my own account and on the account of others. Language lessons, editing, all discarded. I am in difficulty and puzzled by it. The cancer's gone, or mostly gone, so why is this hard in a way nothing else has been? Maybe my anxiety is growing because next week I learn if I need another op. My husband is exhausted, I am utterly drained, we need... What do we need?
I close my eyes and lean forward, my hands nearly slip off my coffee cup. Coffee! I need lots of coffee today!
***
Watched the first episode of The Mirror and the Light last night. Mark Rylance is playing a blinder here. He does know, this Cromwell, that there's something wrong with his king. Not just shouty man wrong or imbecile wrong, but something else. There's a reflection too in the awkward and seemingly terrified Jane Seymour, the realisation that as The Only One Who Matters discarded before so he might discard again. Better get it right. Every single time. Dangerous times as these were for women in childbirth, whatever complications she faced, her immune system cannot have been helped by the knowledge that God's Anointed was a wife killer who now stood waiting for her body to justify his actions. And I think my anxiety's bad.
Turned out that she did all the right things, gave him a son then died before losing the varnish of success... and I wonder at what point did she or Cromwell, or Wolsey or Anne or any of them look into Henry's face and think This man is going to be the death of me? I wonder when the real Cromwell saw it? Mark Rylance's Cromwell seems to know already with a kind of preternatural resignation. They say, and I hope it's just a saying, that Cromwell's execution was very nasty butchery. In reality Henry regretted it later and blamed his courtiers, natch, for manipulating him into killing 'the most faithful servant' he ever had. Tiresome whining creature! Damien Lewis is great at portraying this increasingly strange king, ever more glass-like and empty eyed. I look forward to the rest of this.
And at some marvellously caffeinated point in the future, I really should read the novels.
There is a meeting tonight. The last one exhausted me within 2 hours. I'm worried, not least because I genuinely don't want to go anywhere. I need sleep and then...
And then what?
Whatever the case is with Poor Donkey Body, I cannot become more of a recluse than I have been. I like people, but my alone times are intense and necessary. My issue is that I severely overestimated my ability to keep going or, let's be more accurate, I pushed myself throughout the year, did things, achieved things, until I had nothing left and here I am. I see friends today, I take a break, I see friends at the weekend. Everything I am meant to be doing remains undone, on my own account and on the account of others. Language lessons, editing, all discarded. I am in difficulty and puzzled by it. The cancer's gone, or mostly gone, so why is this hard in a way nothing else has been? Maybe my anxiety is growing because next week I learn if I need another op. My husband is exhausted, I am utterly drained, we need... What do we need?
I close my eyes and lean forward, my hands nearly slip off my coffee cup. Coffee! I need lots of coffee today!
***
Watched the first episode of The Mirror and the Light last night. Mark Rylance is playing a blinder here. He does know, this Cromwell, that there's something wrong with his king. Not just shouty man wrong or imbecile wrong, but something else. There's a reflection too in the awkward and seemingly terrified Jane Seymour, the realisation that as The Only One Who Matters discarded before so he might discard again. Better get it right. Every single time. Dangerous times as these were for women in childbirth, whatever complications she faced, her immune system cannot have been helped by the knowledge that God's Anointed was a wife killer who now stood waiting for her body to justify his actions. And I think my anxiety's bad.
Turned out that she did all the right things, gave him a son then died before losing the varnish of success... and I wonder at what point did she or Cromwell, or Wolsey or Anne or any of them look into Henry's face and think This man is going to be the death of me? I wonder when the real Cromwell saw it? Mark Rylance's Cromwell seems to know already with a kind of preternatural resignation. They say, and I hope it's just a saying, that Cromwell's execution was very nasty butchery. In reality Henry regretted it later and blamed his courtiers, natch, for manipulating him into killing 'the most faithful servant' he ever had. Tiresome whining creature! Damien Lewis is great at portraying this increasingly strange king, ever more glass-like and empty eyed. I look forward to the rest of this.
And at some marvellously caffeinated point in the future, I really should read the novels.
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Date: 2024-11-13 08:14 am (UTC)