Reflection is over-rated

Today I had to wait in a lot for various phone calls.  I have edited a few stories, which rather alarmed me as I thought I had caught all my spare commas.  The cats have been patted, the errands have been run, and I have reflected far too much.

The last few months have been rather eventful.  I have lost 60lb, gone to see somebody I was trying to avoid, been through a mammoth battle for my mother’s health, which is still apparently ongoing, and had to suffer the invasion of my home by allegedly well-meaning infiltrators who want to tell me how to live my life.  You would never guess that I have a brain at all.  I have also had to tell my last remaining offline friend not to return, partially because of the now perpetual drama and interference, which could conceivably kill him with stress, (he was already hospitalised once with the effects, and I was not going to allow this to happen again) and partially because the friendship, whilst good for him, was very bad for me.

Any one of these things would take their toll on a person, never mind all of them, but I have responded reasonably well I think.  The trick now is to avoid reflection.

I don’t want to think about the years since my father died.  I want to move on, create some great work, write a beautiful book or three, and ensure that my mother has as peaceful a life as possible.  Thanks to her unconventional diet, she is stable.  The NHS hate this, but apparently they will have to learn to live with it.  I dread to think how fast she will die in the event that she has to go anywhere else, however, as even the three days that I was effectively absent from caring for her caused a dip.

My friend from the Gambia is trying to worm his way back in to chatting with me every night.  I have no idea what benefit he thinks he will derive from achieving his aim.  I assume he thinks that I am rich.  It certainly isn’t because he wants to do any work.  We have already established this.  Why I am to sit and wait for his next crisis and provide I do not know.  I have no beanstalk in my garden, and alas no magic beans.

In a week or so I am hoping that I will be able to release the first pieces in the Boris Johnson collection.  They are looking rather nice, but there is still a lot of work to do as my studio is rather small for furniture.  I have some lining work to do, which I hate, and about seven days of sewing on the carpet for it.  In the meantime, I am in a writing mood, so I think I will make a start on the book for the Boris collection.  There will also have to be some short stories, and a new series will commence for the release of these.

I am also planning to do some further releases on Amazon.  I notice that somebody has pirated some work of mine on there already, so I have to go through their rather cumbersome copyright process.  I was ignoring it because whoever-it-is is presumably publicising my books, and I thought I would just let them.

All in all, I don’t think I should waste any more time than I have already wasted on reflection.  I don’t particularly envy anyone, and I think things happen for good reasons.  You cannot underestimate your own significance, however. I am feeling rather more inclined to be noisier than I used to be, which can only be a good thing given the very large task ahead.

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