The sun is in the sky for longer, the days are noticeably longer and today is Imbolc: traditionally a celebration featuring candles and badgers. It’s not supposed to be about Bill Murray, although perhaps it is about learning from our mistakes and the erosion of sour worldliness.
Despite my best efforts, I’ve still got paint under my nails and probably in my hair. I’m wearing a red jumper in an attempt to keep me awake and make me happy, but yesterday’s bleak mood is resolute. Today the nose spear isn’t helping me to be a warrior. There’s rusted sludge in my body.
The pupster runs and jumps and greets every smell on the breeze with joy. TA and I look on enviously. In my head funeral music is playing (I don't want to swim the ocean; I don't want to fight the tide; I don't want to swim forever. When it's cold I'd like to die) and I want to crawl back into my hole to hide from my shadow and the sun.