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I blame sugar

Today upon arrival at work I was greeted by a rather prominent notice alerting me to the fact that the building next door had been infested by mice and rats and warned us not to consume any food in the office.

Those who know me can I'm sure imagine how happy this news made me and all day I've been checking the grey carpet for signs of small moving grey bodies and sitting with my legs tucked under me on the chair in a variety of contorted and improbable poses yogi guru style.

I did however use the *no food in the offices* as an excuse to have a nice lunch upstairs with all the other staff and had a nice chat to one of the doctors who seems to have travelled everywhere, including Yugoslavia. Somehow the conversation went on to my homeland and he asked me whether the Yugs still hate the Germans and I had to explain that with all the wealth of new and ancietn enmities Serbia is mired in we have to prioritise our loathing and concentrate on the Croats and the Albanians, and then we spent a pleasant interlude analysing the affectionate loathing between the English and the French.

And during lunch I had some chocolate raisins which resulted in a glucose rush I'm unaccustomed to, and may possibly account for present moodswings. I've been tearful all day. Any little thing I see moves me and makes me feel ridiculously sad and affectionate, with the inevitable result that I end up feeling very sorry for a lot of people, most greatly my mother. I've been battling the urges to phone her all day.

It's a state of hyperawareness I'm not unfamiliar with, tends to go hand in hand with intuition actually but being open to incoming messages from the world is generally a shortcut to a migraine because too much empathy and compassion and awareness can leave me feeling utterly swamped and drowned. In such states to contemplate my mother, or anyone else within range gives me such a sharp feeling of insight into their inner world that I ache with it. I don't know why I want to call my mother except to tell her I understand how lonely it must have been to feel so neglected and unimportant as a child, and how it's going to be all right and it wasn't her fault.

It is a state of ache though, and as such manageable. A state of connectedness to horror and terror of war on the other hand is enough to send me to pieces and make me into a howling lunatic.

I hope it's not a sign of some nascent histrionic thing. I am unfit to interact with the world today. It is extremely clear to me that I ought to be home on the sofa, curled up and sniffling.

And Gods willing in an hour I will be.


deep sky, firefly

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