There are some weeks where the only solution to the shit with which you have been surrounded is to have a good wank. Seriously. Just find a space and masturbate the living sigh/scream/clench out of yourself.
I can’t sit here and type that my life is tortured, because it isn’t. I live a life of absolute wonder, joy and contentment and I will not make any more apologies for this.
Right now the big exhale has begun in this tiny corner of the planet. Hurricane season has passed for another year and those of us who escaped the fury can sit and be grateful for the peace. I cannot comment on those who are suffering still; this was not my experience of 2017. I would like to think that those I have met, who have had to rebuild their lives, have encountered, at least through John and I, compassion, empathy and stillness in which to regroup. Yeh yeh, that’s a bit proper hippy dippy but you know what? Fuck off. Space, silence and the warm stillness of stroking a dog can help some people. I’d like to think that our little space here on the rock in the middle of nowhere has in some way helped those we met, to begin the painful process of moving on. Moving on can be wrenching; I know it is. In moving on we often have to fasten down the screws of the coffin, a coffin which may contain hopes and dreams. We carry our past with us, yes, and our history shapes our present but the process of moving forward can be painful and some traumas are too burdensome to bear all of the time. ‘Nuff of the navel staring bollocks.
So where am I right now? It’s been a while since I could be bothered to update this journal. It’s a very self-indulgent act, having a personal writing blog. I have been so far up my own arse that putting words to how I feel would make a mountain vomit, but thankfully I’ve had a few glasses of wine and I feel relaxed enough to splurge out a few paragraphs. Of course listening to the late GREAT Lord George Michael of The Shuttlecock helps too.
So, to summarise. We had few wee storms pass; Mahalo survived, dogs are fine, John’s arse still hasn’t sagged and Antigua remains.
The resident tourists are dribbling back. They bring with them their sense of entitlement – of course. Example? Apparently it’s disgusting that batteries are being stolen out of golf carts; golf carts are the vehicle of choice around this little community and it seems their batteries are a currency here on island. My reaction? Take the fucking things out of your carts on a night then you dozy tossers! If you choose to tax reside in a country where the minimum wage is less than a loaf of bread, don’t be surprised if opportunists take what isn’t bolted down. Fuckwits! Yeh, ‘k stealing isn’t cool. Blah! Of course it isn’t but you know what? People with nothing to lose will take what they need to survive. Just because you’ve a house in a gated community, that doesn’t protect you. Take a long hard look at the reality vaccuum in which you’ve decided to be tax exempt and wonder why it’s so cheap.
So the old year rumbles on towards the new. What will change? I’d like to think we learn from history.
As Sir Terry Pratchett said, ““If you do not know where you come from, then you don’t know where you are, and if you don’t know where you are, then you don’t know where you’re going. And if you don’t know where you’re going, you’re probably going wrong.”
I think I’m still going wrong, but we’ll see. Every now and then I feel the need to hit that Big Red self destruct button. That’s probably a human thing. At least I have John; he keeps my self-restraint boxing gloves tied firmly in place.
Our Airbnb is drawing to an end too. John and I have begun a new venture – of which I will write later. I am so grateful to the incredible humans who have passed though our house this last year.
We have had in excess of 20 bookings since January and so many people have been much more than paying guests.
We lost, and I say lost because that’s how it felt when they left – Carmen and Tobias. Two incredibly vibrant world travellers. They breezed into our lives for a three night booking and stayed for three weeks whilst they bought a new boat. Fred fell in love, Holly fell in ambivalence – as is her way. We learned how to live without meat in our diet as Carmen is a die-hard veggie person* This old soul felt energised just having them around; it reminded me to look at each day with new eyes, not jaded ones.
Short and sweet I know but I’ve just been distracted by The Tallis Scholars on YouTube and I need another glass of cheap plonk.
I do so hope that normal service will resume soon**
*Ask Tobias about the night he was hovering around the sweet and sour chicken left overs.
**Don’t worry, I’ve a beady eye on the big old sack of shit.