Egocentricity

Yesterday, it rained. It was warm enough to have the windows open, though, and sit listening to the rain while my hair dried in untended waves and I finally finished the picture of the fly and the furnace fire.

Exactly half way through the list of illustrations now.

Never want to draw another picture ever again.

My position and my sentiments being at odds, I get dressed in a reasonably civilised fashion and walk up into the town. If I were to stroll into town in pyjamas and Wellington boots, or a fairy costume, or painted green, and I were to meet a friend, they would say, ‘Oh, hello, haven’t seen you out for a while; clouds look dicey don’t they?’ No mention of my outfit, because they wouldn’t be surprised. I am a practicing eccentric.

The clouds are colossal, an upside down canyon with a gleaming sky river.

The town is little and lined with granite, made up of a mix of building styles, some so old and wobbly they have no straight lines to them at all. Some of the paving slabs have grooves worn in, like limpets leave on low tide rocks. Tuesday was the old market day; many ancient characters keep to the Tuesday town habit. They shuffle past, looking at all the places that used to be, they are all tweed and local history.

On the return journey, I find that I have bought an expensively appealing notebook, a brand new not from a charity shop dress and a fresh set of drawing pens. Oops.

Sun blazes, everything that can catch a piece of light bowls it back into the air, beams are bouncing everywhere. I am walking through an avenue of effervescent brightness, part of the grand universal show.

What I like about being on a low income is the challenge, the edginess of surprise. I fear security would dull the edge. But I also fear not being able to cover the rent. This splurge serves to remind me what fun will be found in the realm of the comfortably off. It’s therapeutic. Look at me, dancing through the volley of light, why, I embody the edginess of surprise. It would be okay, now, to have the rent covered and wear a new dress. Why would that stop me being the star of my own show? Am I not a practicing eccentric?

It’s one part retail therapy, for me, and one part statement, from me, to the universe.

I must get home. There’s a picture of a spade and a scroll that won’t draw itself!