If you have ever had a months worth of Very Important Things to do and only five days in which to do them, you may know how I feel.
It probably doesn't help that it is very necessary to maintain a facade of being completely in control of everything.
But it isn't nice to be waking at 4am hyperventilating as you realise yet another potential crisis you hadn't planned on.

Still.



I am trying my best to keep calm. I can't now even comfort myself with the vision of myself standing in one of the corridors of The Hermitage. I am sliding into panic mode.
Here it is 28 degrees and the light as bright and sharp as ever it could be, and the floor of the ocean visible through its turquoise curtain. The flags are out, the shark net bobbing around in the blue, swimmers lazily lapping out there for fun, all the way. The biannual Music festival on the beach almost here, the lifeguard returned and ready in place for drownings.
Russia and Glasgow seem like figments of my imagination. Actually, I myself am starting to feel like a figment of my own imagination.

I have cooked 7 dinners and only 20 more to freeze. I have ordered lunches, booked babysitters and cleaners. Obtained copyright to use the images in my paper. Almost finished editing. Written course content. Locked all my assessment marks i my office and givn away the key.Bought small plastic bottles and a little travel clock. I have not finished writing ALL course content. I haven't graded the 120 assessment tasks from three weeks ago.I haven't written the extensive instructions manuel. I havent checked whether I will be presenting using windows or mac. I haven't timed the latest version of my paper. I haven't checked to see wher my polarfleece hat is. I haven't bought locks for my bag so I don't get drugs and bombs in my luggage. I haven't photocopied the work I wish to take. I haven't decided whether to buy some civilised clothes to wear in scotland or just look like an uncivilised idiot. So much to do. So little time.

Her are your presents. You may choose which things are yours,

....

this is a going-away-party, and I is handing out some presents.


books for ampersand duck and meli, (look at the cover!) and for Pavlov if she comes by,



shells and blossoms and stones, for jane and 3rdcat, and for arcturus the feather, to hold onto and fly, for shauny the smooth rock from the south coast.



The grevillea is for isabelle, tho she may think them prickly, and for meggie who will love them, and Jelly who may be home soon.
Perhaps Babby for Shoufay though I wish I could give her more,



for the new guys, the laughing one and shula and suse, for rise and molly, precious from the sea,



for little thing, this perfect day, and for Ganching also, who likes a nice view.




some treasure for everyone.
Sorry if your'e left off, I am very sleepy.

albatross, part two

My third encounter with an albatross *







was with this one.


It had preyed upon the wrong fish, an unatttractively prickled pufferfish, which had then lodged firm in its throat.
A stronger soul than me was able to pull it out.



I spread its wings out as a matter of honour, rather than leave it a tangled sorry mess: this seemed the decent thing to do.

One wing stretched from the ground to my nose: The total wingspan was 2 metres, even though it was still a juvenile, as indicated by its chest feathers.


Later I dragged him back out to sea. A sea-bird doesn't belong on the sand, even after its life force has left it behind.

*(Please go to february for the previous albatross post. My link refuses to work.)