Friday night and a normal weekend swings into action.
I make a lewd suggestion about a young man's box in front of 50 of my colleagues - to their evident delight, although some had to have the joke explained to them. Later on, I vacuum up shards of pottery from the bed of a sado-masochistic prostitute. And later still, I have sex with Ross in (potentially) full view of my young neighbour, Nathan, thus returning the compliment for his displays for me.
But what of earlier in the week? Well, I've been roped in to sorting out a web site for the Monthly meeting of Quakers following on from the success of the Wanstead Preparative Meeting web site project. I've also ended up as the organiser of a course You and the Quaker Tradition for Wanstead Preparative Meeting. I've wanted an introductory course such as this for some time. But, as with a lot of things in my life, in order to gain something for myself I've had to put myself in the position of organising it for others as well.
I've been talking at work about Ross and me talk with (variously) Chris, Emma, Nafisa. They are all solicitous without committing themselves. After all I am hardly telling them the whole story. But as I talk I realise that part of the problem, at least, is that I feel that I am needed for what I do rather than being cherished for what I am.
However, I get an e-mail from Ross which is very conciliatory and all and I feel a warm glow for him.
Saturday brings Peter Grimes with Chris. We've both been looking forwards to this for some weeks now. And it is a good performance - particularly the chorus and orchestra work their socks off.
Robert Brubaker is good as Grimes, Vivian Tierney was stunning in her two arias, Catherine Savory was not powerful enough as Auntie but Rebecca de Pont Davies was a revelation as Mrs Sedley. I was disappointed with Jonathan Summers as Balstrode but was really taken by Leigh Melrose's Ned Keane who gave us an alternative moral centre to the piece (if a flawed one since, as the local chemist, he is busy peddling opium in the form of laudanum to Mrs Sedley and her like).
The production gave us the best and the worst of the modernist school. But taken all in all it was a powerful evening. Chris and I sat round and drank a couple of pints together afterwards and talked it all through again. Ross and I never do that really.
My honey was asleep in bed by the time I got home. He stayed asleep when I went off to Quakers. After service I ended up having a quick and then longer drink with Roger, Barry and Anne to discuss the course and other meeting matters. It was really good. I wanted to stay longer but knew I had to get back for Ross.
We ate and watched The Return of the Jedi together and then I took him home.
I was really out of sorts by the time I returned home. It's funny but I think this depression has sort of crept up on me. I have often had autumn/winter melancholias. But I've normally felt sad with them. I don't really feel sad this year. I feel lethargic and uncommunicative but also quite content.
I don't feel driven to do all my healing things but I continue to do them when it suits. I'm not racing to get out of bed and off to the tube by 8am as I was last year to escape the rush. I cope quite adequately. But I'm not happy.
