Descampo in Flaming June

And actually, for 3 euros, I can pick up a bottle of pretty smooth rioja. It’s just a 10 minute walk into the pueblo, the dogs bob along, amused by the barrio smells. The moon is half cut too. Tomorrow I’m picking up the bike. My mad mother is far away. Plotting perhaps, who knows? The house in England has been independently valued now. I thought it would be the forever home, but things change.
It’s not the change that gets you, it’s resisting it. I think that’s true.

I don’t know when the house in England will sell, the market is flat just now, but none of that really bothers me.
My counsellor and I talked a little about forgiveness. We could have could talked longer, I got the impression my counsellor likes forgiveness.
The benefits are definitely in doing the forgiving, I can see that.

My emotional landscape reminds me of the descampo, where I walk the dog in the early morning. Half constructed, half abandoned. I haven’t forgiven Gigi yet, the way she’s broken everything up, out of spite, out of selfishness, out of ignorance.
Oddly though, it’s almost innocent. Like a toddler getting her own way, knocking down the bricks, frustrated.

But I can pick my way through, I’m not stumbling on rancour and resentment. Perhaps one day, this descampo will be populated, kids playing on swings, people watering their lawns, perhaps, perhaps not.
Anyway, it’s ok, it doesn’t trouble me.
I know that’s lazy, lazy like the €3 wine, but I’m getting older now, There’s no time to waste on rancour

Last updated November 08, 2016