Deconstruction
Funny how messy it all is and how language can elude us or obfuscate (now there’s a great word) everything and render us mute through its incapacity to express what we feel.

Two things which will be random observations...

1. The hi jacking of the menopause. The complete lack of sleep; the really weird thing that is like an aura of profound dread that precedes the internal combustion that could give Hell a run for its money; the sickening suck of energy that seems to plummet into an unseen open drain at my feet that makes me want to drop to the floor before the rush of fire that, far from being energising, sweeps through like a bush fire that ravages and leaves behind tinder and the friable husk of previous life. The feeling of having fallen off a cliff edge into abyss. The alienation of body, self and life, leaving behind an incapacity or desire for engagement in anything.

2. Matthew Parris on PM today. Although I can’t love his politics, I found myself in broad agreement with his thoughts about public grief, particularly the point about the very quick ebb and flow that comes with what can feel like an uncomfortable public show of emotion, the sincerity of which may be uncertain or even doubtful, as compared to the endless nagging rawness of a deeply personal grief. A clinical psychologist replied on Friday 25th’s PM disagreeing with Parris saying that he was able to empathise and grieve hearing the story of the stillborn child from Grenfell Tower fire having experienced the loss of his own stillborn child. As these two points of view were expressed I could see the polarisation of language and othering forming. I’m not sure hoe I feel about it all. I’ve got Susan Sontag’s ‘Regarding the Pain Of Others’ on P’s side of the bed so will try to read a bit if I can muster sufficient concentration.