Woke up refreshed and seemingly revitalised, had a quick shower with a small wagtail singing to me from her perch on the branch of an elder tree just outside the bathroom window. Sat down and wrote 2 500 words before having a cup of coffee.
This, friends, is not inspiration or a visit from my lackadaisical Muse: sadly, it is probably the hormonal swing of early menopause. Swing low, sweet chariot! I’ve been very lucky in that I do not have the severe mood shifts many women suffer from along with bloating or flushes or sudden tiredness. But I get little bursts of energy and then get sleepy or peckish. My friend Shauna calls these hormonal swings ‘power surges’ and I make the most of them.
And talking of once-taboo subjects, I had a comment from someone who wants to pay me for talking at regular intervals about Viagra on my blog. Five dollars each time I mention Viagra, Viagra, Viagra!
Unfortunately I have nothing to say about Viagra. I think it is a way for elderly men to give themselves unwanted heart attacks. I would rather be intimate with somebody unable to do penile penetration but desirous of mutual back rubs than someone who thinks sex is about high performance and how long, how many times, how many orgasms etc. So, Floyd the sex-aid salesman, consider yourself spammed off into hyperreality to join mad Mickey Clontarf the Holy One of Whatever.
My puppies have taught themselves to dance on their hind legs at suppertime. I don’t believe in teaching cute tricks to small dogs, but these must have poodle in them somewhere because they are very keen to join the circus, love being watched and praised for doing Fred & Ginger imitations. They are naturals at tap dancing. No obedience though. Singin’ in the rain, jus’ singing in the rain…
My murdered character won’t stay dead. He keeps popping up and making hamfisted jokes and inserting himself into the wrong beds, botching his scrambled eggs along with his seduction attempts. I feel like someone who has had her crossword puzzle taken away and completed by a mad uncle in a sombrero.
And my heavenly garden is now a territory mined with small but deep holes dug by disobedient puppies. A lovely ginger-scented pelargonium has been knocked sideways. A salient reminder that I am not in charge here. I am simply a small person in a mysterious universe, doing my own little dance of praise in the sunlight.