Been sloughing about in my familiar fog of arsiness - '...house is horrible, want to do something nice but can't til house is less horrible....' ad infinitum. All that counselling and I'm still doing this? And add this to the '...want to earn money but have no real way of doing it.... useless...talentless.... sociopathic.... lazy.... zzzzzzzzz'
I can't even bear to be in the same shower as myself.
And then, just as I'm looking for an excuse to delay going to bed and getting a good night's sleep once again I channel-hop into a documentary about John Callahan - the paraplegic cartoonist. I had one of his postcards on my wall years ago. And this film was really engaging. I felt he was like John Lydon on wheels. Odd and spiky here and there yet actually very sweet. Looking at him I thought well he must have got his feeling back in his hands to be able to draw. Then I saw him drawing - with the pen pinned between his hands. And he writes songs. And strums at a ukelele on his lap. Blows a mean harp. And sings. Really quite beautifully. Really quite beautiful songs. And I felt shamed. Embarrassed by my self-pitying lack of gumption.
The title of the film was one of his songs. 'Touch Me Where I Can Feel It' - at least I think that was it was. I didn't even 'get' how much that meant until after I'd cleaned my teeth. I thought I'll just check that on Wiki - I couldn't find that but at the bottom it said he died in July. Blimey. I feel completely bereft now. And shamed.
I had the same feeling sometime last year when I saw the film 'The Diving Bell and the Butterfly' based on the book written by a man who could only communicate with the blink of one eye. Had to read the book. Read it in one night. Awed and shamed.
Every so often I need a kick up the arse. Just to remind myself of my luck. And lack. Lack of appreciation.
Now if I really did want to write that book I keep banging on about, well I just would, wouldn't I?