The title of this entry owes to Sheri Tepper’s Grass. A passage where the lead character speaks to god and learns of herself as a very small thing. A humorous god. An exchange that made me well up. She apologises for offending and God replies, ‘you do not offend. I don’t make things that offend me’. I’m not sure why that got me. The kindness of it. The lovely idea of God that comes in a concussed vision to her. G is writing about the folklore of the Judaic god. Or is it the scriptural version of folklore. With its petty God and self serving miracles, or sorcery, or magic. All.
I am rereading the book on the iPad as i can’t turn book pages. I haven’t read novels for a long while now. I filled that space with media immersion, emails, Skype meetings, watching box sets on video. But J wrote and mentioned that Sheri Tepper had passed away recently. Like a blow, I feel the loss. Always checking to see, impatiently, for her most recent book. She was prolific, but not enough for my interests. All of my favourite authors are winding down or gone. Anyway, the arbai trilogy is an amazing read. I’m almost done with Grass. I’ll read Raising the Stones again next. I was telling G he might like them for their meditations on patriarchal cultures and imperatives, religious fundamentalism and cultural relativism respectively.
I tried to use the leather sofa to lie down and spare myself the now agonising trek upstairs. But its no good, not comfortable, not easy or restful. So I conceded to G that we should order the hospital bed for the dining room. It upset me. Acknowledging something I want to refuse. Letting something in to sully the beautiful spaces of this house. I’ve tried to keep that ugliness out. But I’m tired. I need to lie down somewhere closer.
I am glad I’m done with the z pack today. I only took 2mg of the prednisolone so I am slightly less nauseous than yesterday. I’ve kept wanting respite, to feel well in body again, even if only for a while. To do ordinary things. To go to my office on campus – I haven’t seen it since it was painted and repaired and a new carpet relaid – trying to make me more comfortable there. Someone has now put in a better easy chair, I’ve heard. I could put the poster art up that I ordered. I’d like to wear my clothes and travel under my own steam. Even though I know I will never drive again. I didn’t even like driving. But I took it for granted and did it anyway. It was a means to an end. I’d go shopping in town. I miss shopping. I’d stop for espresso at the Coffee Republic around the corner from House of Fraser as it was the best coffee and the nicest place to sit. I liked its down at heel coffee bar atmosphere. Actually the best coffee was at Selfridges, on the third floor next to the posh clothes, bags and shoes. G wasn’t that fond of it. But it had the thick grained espresso I used to like. And then I’d go home. I’d get minimally invasive palliative care and have my life back. I don’t even care if I’d write again. I’d have the very small things back instead.