Morning Walk

I went for that walk this morning. Left at half six and just got back – that’s an hour and a half. Of course, I wasn’t walking all that time – according to my watch I’ve walked 6048 steps today.

I took a flask of coffee, but when I sat down on the bench behind the Beach Café and opened it, it was too hot to drink. I was impressed that it’s so effective. Maybe it’s because I topped it up with boiling water. I’ve finally worked out how to do it up and press the button so it doesn’t leak. Major advance for me. I took the lid off to encourage it to cool down.

There seemed to be a lot more people around than I remember from when I lived in the flat and regularly took early morning walks on the beach. There were always the odd dog walkers, joggers and metal detectors, but nothing like the numbers who were there today. That said, everyone was keeping the required distance, though it struck me that I didn’t see anyone wearing face masks. I had on the scarf I wear for the supermarket, which I can pull up over my mouth and nose if necessary. (I did see one man with a mask on my way home, he had a bright blue one and bright blue gloves, and as he was on a street with a lot of care homes, I wondered if he was on his way to work in one.)

There were also quite a lot of people swimming in the sea – not just the regular ladies who go all year round, there must have been fifteen or twenty people – again, all observing a sensible distance. Of course, the swimming pools are all closed, that affects me too, but I don’t fancy going in the sea at seven in the morning, not even in this weather.

I decided to walk on to the Rose Garden and give my coffee time to cool  a bit, but when I got there the gates were locked – there was no notice to say the garden was closed, just the usual one saying that the gates are closed at dusk, so perhaps they’re just not opened till eight or nine anyway. The same happened at the garden behind the museum – which I know has been opening, because my friend Sue messaged me a couple of weeks ago and mentioned she’d been there.

So I finished my coffee sitting on a bench by the lake, and there I noticed that although there are a lot of swans, there were no cygnets – thinking about it, there would be nowhere for them to nest, anyway. Perhaps the ones there are just the ones that aren’t breeding this year, and the others are nesting over in the marshes to the east and north. I walked home past the garage where I keep my van. It’s due for its MOT this month. Something to organise. Oh what fun.

Because

I will write this now and not give myself a chance to change my mind. I will write this now because I want to capture these feelings. I will write this now without exercise, meditation or coffee because those might make me feel better, and I want to explain how I feel right now, not how I feel when I’m looking through a positive filter of exercise, meditation and coffee . If I don’t catch it now I will never be able to explain. I will write it now before I have the chance to slip into the mask, the ‘yeah, I’m fine, it’s a beautiful day!’

I told myself last night that if I was awake early I would get up and walk to the beach. I woke before 5.00. I could have done it, but I didn’t. It’s now 6.15. I am at the computer. I am dressed and I have fed my cat, but not watered the plants because that too would probably take me away from these feelings.

I am afraid. I don’t want this. I want to stay in my bubble. I don’t want to have to go out and interact. I don’t want to be with people. I like not having to do those things. I can be happy here.

I want to stay in a safe place where I don’t have to think about what a shambles my life has been. I don’t want to read about how happy people are with their plans. I don’t want to make plans. I don’t want to feel guilty about wasting the summer by sitting in my garden.

It’s not just because I’ve been reading stories about racism and police brutality in the US; or how our daily death-rate is greater than the combined total of other European countries with comparable data, and yet restrictions are being lifted and we’ll soon be ‘back to normal’; or about the shamelessness, incompetence and venality of those in power in this country; (though none of that helps). It’s not just because I’ve been reading about friends who are getting on with their writing, promoting their books, have completed books to promote (though none of that helps either).

It’s because I am me, it’s because my failure has all been down to my lack of determination, lack of persistence, lack of ‘resilience’ maybe, if that’s the current word of choice. Why am I am I so shit in all those areas? Because I am me. Why do I f*ck up everything? Because I am so shit in all those areas. Why is that? Because of my personality, because of who I am. Why is that? Because I was never, ever going to get anywhere with all that negative baggage. Why can’t I change that? Because it wouldn’t be true. Why do I hate myself so much? Because I know it is all down to who I am. And why can’t I change and become a better person? Because, because, because.