Short week

Good thing I get a lie-in tomorrow, is all I can say.

Despite a genuine worry that my head was liable to drop off at any moment without warning and roll across the floor out of reach (you try operating torso and limbs remotely with a restricted field of vision - it's not as easy as you might think), I actually managed to get some work done yesterday. Concrete achievements; yay me. (Note to self: the planned unhooking of the Self-Worth module from the Achievement module does not seem to be progressing as smoothly as one might wish.)

This morning has so far gone far better than it might have, in that it included a lift to work from the lovely niallm and thus excluded the prospect of arriving sodden and miserable and taking until mid-afternoon to dry.

(Rain leaches all the prettiness out of Dublin. We need a geodesic dome and some huge sunlamps. And a nice underground irrigation system. Yes indeed. None of this inefficient top-down delivery.)

I'd better stop burbling and - oops - go pick up my head.

Another one

A while ago, I posted a poem. Nobody remarked on this except for the ever-faithful niallm, but I've decided to go ahead and post another one anyway. Comments invited!

Home Birth
"I need a man," she said, and set to work,
tapping a childhood flair for arts and crafts -
she gathered scraps: a battered piano stool,
old clothes, the ruins of a basket chair,
even some pots and pans she thought would do;

spread them all out in her living-room
and worked for days, with tape, and string, and glue -
did clever things with coathangers, fleshed out
the figure with old ravelled socks, and cut,
from some magazines, a face to die for;

and now they’re dancing - yes, it’s worked - at last!
her wild eyes break her tears, her vivid smile
grimly denies the lurching, thumping weight
she wields - her clenched and brittle hum drowns out
the quick snap and creak of a wicker heart.