A friend commented on a forum that he is ‘such a wuss’ about turbulence while flying. Well, who isn’t?
My greatest fear around turbulence on flights used to be the terror that they would stop serving liquor to passengers. I could face death but not enforced sobriety. And the more gin I drank, the more it looked as if the wing was falling off or the undercarriage dangling by one metal thread. To make matters worse, I was always seated next to the hijacker disguised as a clean-shaven soft-spoken businessman.
Paranoia, I have known it.
Another bright and windless day, another chapter written and edited. There is lasagna ready for the oven, blanched and peeled tomatoes ready for bottling. The dogs sprawled at my feet as I work in the study, all gazing at me in rapt dog love. Also known as the canine hope of another b-i-s-c-u-i-t.
Admittedly, there is no running water, but I have filled the bath with cold water so we will not die of thirst. Although the neighbour who is coming around for lunch may not like the idea of drinking a glass of bathwater with her lasagna.
The old solitude/loneliness conundrum. This same neighbour who is married and lives with a husband, two teenagers and a mother-in-law, pointed out crossly that I have more of a social life than she does. Which is true enough and many people who work from home welcome sociability when the day’s work is done. The singleton who wrote Going Solo: The Extraordinary Rise and Surprising Appeal of Living Alone, Eric Klingenberg, discusses the paradoxes of single living:
We need to make a distinction between living alone and being alone, or being isolated, or feeling lonely. These are all different things. In fact, people who live alone tend to spend more time socializing with friends and neighbors than people who are married. So one thing I learned is that living alone is not an entirely solitary experience. It’s generally a quite social one.