Tonight I’d like to strangle it the way that it is doing to me but I must look at the dark horizon of chimneys out of the window and imagine what is beyond. There’s been no replicas, which I think is an amazing thing and I appreciate people searching through card racks, getting out the crayons, making home made books, and really eccentric funny presents that have made me laugh, and of course the music which I sometimes listen to all day and night as I drift through half dream conversations that I’m often not sure if I’ve had or not. I must say every card I have received has been different. Although we’ve cut down on visitors I still really want to see people, but like in glimpses just to tell them how much they meant to me, for them this is like a boring santa’s grotto with no presents (or they bring the presents). So much can happen when you lie in bed doing nothing. So if you are praying for me pray for me to have next Thursday – rather shallow though that may sound. We’ve bought champagne for the box launch and goodies and Emma and Smart have done so much to make postcards and posters. Of course no one can tell me, or ever could how near my death is, but surely a body like this doesn’t belong on the earth. I am using that as a focus to take me forward. So what’s the prognosis? I really really really want to get to the launch of the First aid kit for the mind at the Biscuit Factory next Thursday the 14th. Then the nurses arrived and gave them lots of attention which would add to the general strangeness of the incident. It could be quite traumatic and a strange thing that one finds oneself writing about in a writing class years ahead. I imagined what it must have been like to see this scene from a child’s view from the ages of 5 and 8. My little niece Ester and her sister Naomi came to see me today bringing drawings and books of activities to do when I was bored. I could frighten children – and I like children. My upper body has thin chickeny arms and sticky out bones, and I am completely yellow, especially my eyes which are a livid ochre yellow. My tummy is like a children’s toy or a Dickensian gentleman’s pot belly.
Both legs are very thin like twigs with podgy ankles and swollen toes. I can’t believe it can look and feel so different so quickly and in such a short time. Its sluices, tired doctors, and waiting room chairs.Īnd I came here. Even the songsĪnd prayers tidied themselves into groovesĪnd the impossible hospital lay down its chimneys It was like slipping onto the back of a horse,Īnd the room folded in, like a pop up story
I was warm with cloves, melting butter, demerara,Īnd wearing your pyjamas. In another room they were baking, mulling wine. It had just stopped raining.īeads of water on glass glittered like secrets. It was English tea time, with the kind of light With azure blue pillows, the leopard-like quilt. In an empty room with sky filled windows, Although there hadn’t been rain just a bright blue sky and spring breeze tripping down the Vale.Įventually, I was placed on a bed like a boat As a final word from Julia we all felt that this poem from her book Sudden Collapses in Public Places summed up the scene. Julia died yesterday afternoon at about 4.30pm.
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