War and Peace
Originally published at Promenade. You can comment here or there.
Although I've had lots of fascinating trajectories on which to lapse lyrical over the last couple of years, the final step - the act of sitting down and writing - has been repelled, very much as two magnets' like poles drive each other away. On those rare occasions I've written something, re-reading it has been a similar trial. So instead of writing about complicated, thought-provoking topics, I've decided to resort to spewing forth whatever is whatever, much as if this were a real blog. The hope is that eventually I'll remember how to write.
I'm at the farm again, the weather's been benevolent, the few alpacas that remain are being very low-maintenance (most rest have been spending time with kind, grass-rich friends), the environment is very much the definition of idyllic. This time around I was called upon to Mum-sit while Dad showed a couple of the animals at the Hamilton show. Mater's leg has swollen to about three times its normal size, and although the tumour within isn't threatening her life, the doctors are now discussing amputation as a viable option, with a view - ironically enough - to making her more mobile again. Given her current condition - bored, bedridden, tired & frustrated, it sounds like an eminently appealing prospect.
I was intending to write on slightly more upbeat matters, but I don't think I have it in me right now.