Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Keep A Diary And One Day It'll Keep You

Andrew didn't come to bed til late one night last week, because he was too busy standing in the kitchen, reading old blog posts of mine on his phone. "You wrote 364 of them in 2008!" he said "but only 44 last year". I think he feels responsible and, in a way, he is. I was busy in 2008, probably busier than I am now, out too late and drinking too much, falling in love, frantically documenting every minute of it because sometimes it seemed like so much was happening all at once that I could only get my head around it by writing it down and sharing it with strangers offof the internet. By late 2008 some of those strangers had become friends, Andrew and I had become lovers and the frequency of my posting had declined dramatically. Maybe leading a good life is better than keeping a good diary.

I still want to write. I haven't started that novel, nor my memwah for the Fish contest, but I still wake on weekend mornings with a garrulous itch. "Been ages since I heard from you" wrote Conortje in the comments on my last post. You and everyone else, Mister! I thought, so I sat down and wrote him a letter.

Well, an email. My handwriting would break his heart.

Hello there!

Sincere apologies for not having written in so long. You know when you start to compose a reply to someone's email and then work gets in the way and you save it to come back to because it's already epistolary in length and you'd like to spellcheck it before you send it and then it gets relegated to your drafts folder never to be seen again and it's only weeks later when you think "funny I never heard back from Conor, I hope I didn't offend him in some way with my inane ramblings because sometimes I just let my mouth run and run with no consideration for other people" and then you get a comment on your sorely neglected and consequently little-read blog and you realise that that email you sent has been mouldering away in your drafts folder like that cat chew stick that you found down underneath the cushion of the armchair.

I am sorry I didn't reply sooner, I had the best of intentions. I also discovered a couple of weeks ago that the texts I had sent to you inviting you to a party and wishing you a happy Christmas were not in fact sent to you at all, but to some random number that I had saved as yours (Catherine put me right). So I also need to apologise to you for making a balls of inviting you to the party, though there will be others and I'll make sure I get it right next time. I trust you didn't have an unhappy Christmas as a consequence of my neglecting to wish you a happy one? Do let me know if that is the case, as the power to influence the lives of others by way of omission on my part would be awesome (though obviously I'd only ever use it for good).

All's well with me, life is tipping along at an amicable rate here in Stoneybatter. Catherine has invited me to go for a cycle in the park with her this morning but as it's approaching 11 and I've not heard from her, I am guiltily hoping that she's forgotten, as though I am happy to cycle to the park and even around it a little bit on my own, I'm not sure I'm quite ready for anyone else to see how much I huff and puff with the shameful exertion of it all. If we do end up going for a cycle, I will make doubly sure of it that she comes to yoga with me this week so that I can exact a sweaty revenge. Andrew, his brother and I have started a new class with a woman who lives around the corner (she does the classes in her front room, but it's not as odd as it sounds) and I am determined to rope Catherine in too. Last week's class was so intense and the room was so warm (though it's not a bikram class) that I almost fainted. Luckily, we were engaged in a complicated pose that involved standing on one leg and keeping your trunk horizontal and parallel to the floor at the time, so everyone else was falling over too and I'd have gotten away with it.

Apart from yoga classes and imaginary cycles in the park, life at the moment is mostly consumed with work. From now to April will be my busiest period (though I recall saying something similar in September about the stretch from September to December...) and I'll be on the road a bit more than usual, working on the talent contest I run for secondary school kids. Woe is me. At present I've no plans to travel to Kerry but rest assured, should work take me in your direction you'll be getting a call! I was sorry to hear that the job you'd interviewed for didn't work out, it must be very hard to keep the chin up. It's been a while since I've been in your position and for all I give out about my job, I count myself lucky for it. It's not so long since Andrew was where you are though, and I remember how tough he found it. I'm still keeping an eye out for anything I think might suit you, though I suspect I might be looking in the wrong places. I hope something comes up soon. I'm thrilled to see you back blogging in the meantime, I may not have written in a while but I think of you often and your writing always makes me smile. Keep up the photo archiving too - and be sure to take some photos of Kerry while you're there. I used to holiday there every summer as a kid and even now when I think of holidays I long to go back to the Glen, to spend long days indoors, looking out at the rain over the top of my book and talking about holidaying somewhere sunny.

I don't really like the sun. Kerry suits my demeanour and complexion.

Andrew sends his love, shouting it from bed as he loves a lie-in on a Sunday morning. I get restless (but not restless enough to want to go cycling) and these days the Glenroes (a paralysing fear of Monday mornings precipitated by hearing the Glenroe theme tune on a Sunday evening) start from the moment I wake, so I spend the day busy, batting them away. I'm off now to make some porridge and think about what to do with what's left of my weekend. Give my love to B, you must miss him like I can't even imagine what, and I hope you've plans to see him soon. Keep in touch, remind me publicly when you haven't heard from me for a bit (maybe I should kill two birds with one stone and post my emails to you on my blog, a la C and L on Right Now, Forever which I think you'd really like) and do think about coming up to visit us some weekend, the bed is always there for you and the kettle is always on.

love,
Rosie
x

7 comments:

Catherine said...

A damn fine letter it is, too. I suspect the huff-to-chatter ratio will be much different at this evening's class, mind you.

Rosemary said...

I want to go to that yoga class!

Rosie said...

there was no chatter from me at last night's class anyway, Catherine, unless you cound the strangled grunts out of me when attempting some of the more challenging poses.

i'm afraid 'tis overbooked, Rosemary. yoga must be trendy.

mise said...

That was a grand long letter. Utterly admirable in these days of the snappy remark and the brief status update.

stwidgie said...

So enjoyed reading your letter - right down to the pleasurable rush of guilt at reading a letter meant for someone else.

I know that yoga pose - we were doing it Monday night in my class. It's not easy, but better than anything involving my wrists as load-bearing members.

Best to you!

acarbery said...

The art of letter writing; not dead, right there.

(My command over the English language, on the other hand...)

x

Sarah Gostrangely said...

Nice to see you again Rosie!

Send us your address and I'll send you a postcard!

Love,

Sarah Gostrangely