Hooks

It was Graham Greene who wrote ‘Hate lay like boredom over the evening ahead.’ On reading those words from an earlier blog again, I’m overcome with the dreadful realisation that boredom lies like hate over my life this week, generously covering the minutes, hours, evenings, weekends, weeks ahead. I’m devoid of stimulation, creativity and newness and the old paranoia has begun to creep in. The rain is hitting the window vengefully, and the pounding and darkness sweeping through the room adds to my glum mood. I’m seldom this bored. Something, or someone usually hooks through the grey and tugs on my hair with a word, photo, story, recipe or exhibition, and my attention is turned towards iridescent light, colour, texture and gorgeous paragraphs flow through and around and into my ever-decreasing mind. I’d see the light transmigrate through the twinkling rolled-glass on the window, and my eyes would turn to see doweling shaped lines of sunlight stretching through the trees. The right corner of my mouth would turn, ever-so-slightly upwards and the stiff air retained in tight lungs would gush out, leaving a lighter, gentler being on the heavy couch.

But today there are no such distractions and I’m alone with myself, the loneliest kind of aloneness. Mindlessly, I hit ‘next blog’, and there I am. The hook curves into my mind, and for the next ten minutes I’m hooked reading about sewing and appliqué, knitting and small children. For similar creative refreshment, check out this blog, and these fantastically gorgeous little people: