A somewhat discombobulating thought popped into my head early – 5am early – this morning and has bedeviled my thoughts ever since. It’s the boa-constrictor of thought, the more I try not to think about it, to focus on other things, the stronger its hold. And probably today wasn’t the best day to have this thought, as I had a therapy session and given my many issues, I never leave feeling tip-top!
However. yesterday, as you are no doubt aware, Clive James died. Gushing tributes poured in, well deserved I’m sure. The common consensus was that he was a wonderful person, charming but modest. His death was the lead item on BBC R4’s ‘PM’ His death rather relegated that of Jonathan Miller’s sad demise into second place, which had it occurred on any other day, gushing tributes to him would’ve doubtless filled the airwaves. He too was accomplished.
his morning I was struck by the painful truism that my own sad demise will not be afforded the same treatment. The only thing that leapt to mind was me surviving multi-organ failure and a month in a medically induced coma, and even that was thanks the expert care I received; the medical staff did all the work, I just lay there. One would suppose that I’d be able channel this feeling of failure into a sudden burst of creative possibilities, but no, instead I’m writing a blog that hardly anyone will ever read.