I'm in a strange sort of mood today which I'm hard pressed
to describe. But that's what I like about the English language;
all it's twists and turns, subtleties, nuances and shades of meaning.
So many possibilities to consider and options to eliminate in the
quest for that perfect assemblage of vowels and consonants that
says exactly what you're trying to convey
- the right word!
It's raining which I think is partly responsible for my current
malaise. I'm certainly not depressed in either the clinical or
over used sense of the word. The black dog has most certainly
not been shedding his hairs at the foot of my bed - well
not recently anyway.
The rather mournful, keening Celtic music I was listening to on
the way back from the supermarket has also got a lot to answer
for. Runrig playing An Sabhal Aig Neill is guaranteed to make
the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention but what else
would you expect from a girl who's father hailed from the Black Isle?
Are you lonely Julia? No, I don't think so. Quite frankly I've
got so used to my own company now that anyone else around
full time would only get in the way and clutter up the place.
Am I coming down with something? Do I need vitamins,
feeding up, calming down, a quick shot of gin?
Now hang on a minute, I've found the word. It's wistful.
I am full of wist and vague, regretful longings. And, what's
more, I think I know why. When the lines on your face are
still making you smile long after something has ceased to be funny
that's when you suddenly realise that the thing that comes to all
of us has now come to you - I'm getting old!
Someone stick on the kettle I need to snap out of this fast.