Smokingboot

So the good news is, I've found that story kick I needed. And the bad news is I am in an abattoir. It's insane!

More dead birds. First this morning, a terrible scream from the top of the stairs, I rush up and find little she-cat with a victim; birdy is clearly losing life, so much so, Surya lets me have it, she couldn't care less. Poor thing, its life trickling out of it, feeling it, thinking how horrible to die with some stinking thing holding you, so I left it on the windowsill for the last few seconds, dying in sunlight. Just now another squawk, this time more alive, more indignant, I rush downstairs to see both my monsters prowling with intent around the shoe rack. Sure enough, a young starling, furious but able to fly. I grabbed it and put it at the window where it has shot off, doubtless to die of shock in some hedge.

I can't write! It's carnage! I love my cats, get that they are murdering mofos and that's just the way they are, but I remember them as inadequate bug hunters, how did they become this expert in butchery? Did the birds just get stupid? Or is there one particularly evolution-unworthy starling mama who's chosen to nest in the catfood cupboard?

Add to this, the utterly beautiful 'Sweetest Thing' by Refugee Camp Allstars and Lauryn Hill, and I am nearly in tears.

Well, I was a bloody awful hostess last night.

Oh I didn't swing naked from the chandelier singing expletives at my guests whilst yoinking the good china out of their grasp with my prehensile toes; that at least would have been interesting. No, I just sat there useless and tired, enjoying their company but unable to contribute at all. Thankfully they made teas and stuff and carried the evening, but it is frustrating to be such a drag.

At some stage yesterday I muddled Ralik's special 'anti-cystitis' food with Surya's regular stuff; I never do things like that, I'm aware with the beasties. There's stuff to be done, packing, etc and of course, my old not-quite-abandoned job to attend to, this afternoon.Tonight I travel again, not back til Monday, missing Maelstrom. I am sitting here staring at the screen, can't be bothered to finish my coffee.

Man, I am more than tired.

Of course it could be the stress of new job and much travel, but...there's no getting past it...I don't feel this sense of exhaustion in London. There's a time for everything I guess. The birdsong outside reminds me that this place has been really good for me in its time, and just as I got sick of London and needed a change, so I need a change from here now, not because of any deficiency in place or people but because of my own requirements. Much as I like the idea of having a cat as my totem, it doesn't fit; cats need their same old territory and freak when they lose it. I'm a birdy really - a new nest every Spring suits me fine.

The I Ching, chronicle of venerable Chinese wisdom tells us how to cope with these feelings:

Hexagram 47:

There is no water in the lake
The image of EXHAUSTION
The superior man (meaning anyone who's smart) stakes his life
on following his will.

Which I presume means that when you are drained and feel you have nothing left, you find something that really matters to you and follow it through. Sound advice I would certainly follow...if I wasn't too knackered.

Edited to add I have just remembered last night's dream in which some kind of Madonna(not madge)/ rag doll figure with long purple hair was supposed to be nailed to a cross, though it didn't look at all grotesque - the whole thing was a blue and purple mediterranean style mosaic, very pretty, and she didn't look unhappy at all.