First attempt, 26^th September, 15.06

I want to write about something that I can’t get hold of. I think if I try to write about it, I might be able to grasp it. It has to do with identifying plants, although it doesn’t. It has to do with not being able to write this. That’s part of it. Last year I wrote a blog every week for about half the year. This year, practically nothing.

I don’t know if not doing what I am trying to do matters. Other people don’t do what I’m trying to do, and they’re fine. It doesn’t matter if I don’t do what I’m trying to do. Nobody cares except me. So why should I care?

Second attempt, 28^th September, 11.10

There used to be a lime tree on the corner of Craven Road and Blenheim Road. It was a rather elegant tree, well-shaped, small, beautiful. I think it was a small-leaved lime, Tilia cordata. I know it was a lime tree because I would consider it for lime flowers when I was looking for trees to collect from, in May, when the flowers are open and buzzing with bees. I never did collect from it because the flowers were out of reach and it was in someone’s garden.

Third try lucky, 7^th October

I am suggesting that this is my first blog this year. This is possibly not true, and I could easily check, but I think if I check I will become embroiled in something else, and I must just keep going or this attempt will end up as Document3 (Autosaved) and never escape.

This is so personal. Too personal? Perhaps that is how it has to be. Yesterday a post popped up from six years ago on Facebook showing a picture of my Sussex trug filled with vegetables and shiny comice pears. I’m glad I saw it. Each year when I grow vegetables I believe that this is the first year I have ever grown vegetables.

I’m feeling angry this morning. It’s the good anger, like the good pain you get in Yoga. Useful anger. With Yoga it means you are doing the right thing, and you can do more of it. Your body will thank you. Like the pain of running, too. I’ve started running. I’m about four weeks into it and I’ve just got to the beginning, and it hurts, but I look forward to it. It’s strange.

This anger, though, how is it good? It is doing for my mind what running and yoga do for my body. It has led me to write this, a letter to myself. I think that is all it can do at the moment. I’ll publish this and promise more soon. I am sad about the lime tree, and writing about that and other plant and garden things, and my life and how I struggle may be helpful.

I’m trying to end with something about being comfortable and warm and well fed and healthy, to diminish my struggle as being less than other struggles people have. I’m loved, I’m happy, and the struggle goes on in my head.

I want to say more, but I don’t know how to. That’s all for now, though I can answer questions, if you have any.