Bollocks!

Hubris. I have one friend who will be able to tell me whether I should be using 'Nemesis' instead, (Good Morning, Iris!) but hey! I shall stick with hubris for the moment.

I have been ill. Not seriously, just ill enough to discount all my blessings and do a little wallowing in self-pity, with a side order or regretting past mistakes, and a huge helping of wanting what I can't have.  I am a whisker away from harming others, if tongue-lashing my husband for his shortcomings counts, and he would say that it does. In short, I write breezily about resisting these activities as a waste of life, just days before reaching for all of them as a palliative for a minor stomach upset. Brought on, I confess, by a surfeit of left-over Christmas goodies: Don't feel sorry for me.

I have to laugh. I get to this point, from time to time, when I begin to believe my own publicity. 'Oh look at you,' I tell myself admiringly, 'You have it all together. So erudite, so compassionate, so wise!'

 Bollocks.

I ought to stop there, but the urge to make something out of my experience for the benefit of  humankind is just too irresistible.

I sat with someone with real problems yesterday. We talked about the Higgs Boson, the ludicrous antics of our government, the state of Israel, the raving lunacy  of fundamentalists ( He a Jew, I a Roman Catholic) and we laughed at it all.

Sitting down with a cup of tea and giving away time didn't cure his depression or my stomach ache, but afterwards, we both felt a little bit lighter.

We salvaged a moment.