On disappointment and insouciance

Disappointments have been creeping in. Stealing quietly through the cracks and taking up residence. Under my skin.

The chicken is a bit boring. The tea tastes ordinary. Will the sun ever bloody shine this winter? Can we have a decent political debate in this country? The work’s a bit too hard. The washing never ends. My god it is cold. Could I really be sick again? Really?

Even though I have tried to foster insouciance, cultivate it, nurture it; it won’t come.

I haven’t sauntered smugly through this winter. I have shivered and huddled and dogged by sickness missed too many brisk morning walks. And it has been unrelentingly frosty and grey. Even I, who love winter, I truly do, can’t love this one.

Then a big disappointment. A missed opportunity. The chance to escape the mundane for a while, vanished.

Gracious, I drew myself up to my full height. There was no insouciance, but at least I didn’t pout in disappointment.

I got a hair cut, got my brows waxed razor-sharp and drank martinis.

The sun shone today. I haven’t written anything much but at least I read some great blogs and had some tea.

Now I am going to flounce off with only a whiff of the bitter residue of this disappointing week trailing me.