Thursday 28 October 2010

A Difficulty.

I was in my kitchen today when I caught a fleeting glimpse of something fluttering outside the window. It moved like a butterfly, which surprised me because late October is not a time for butterflies in Britain. By the time I turned to look at it properly, it had gone. But then I saw several more, and watched as they danced a butterfly dance in the space formed by my kitchen wall and another that runs at right angles to it. And, of course, they weren’t butterflies; they were small, desiccated leaves caught up in swirling eddies of breeze created by the respective angles of the two walls.

So what did I make of these impostors? I made ghosts of them, shrivelled corpses of the Red Admiral and Peacock butterflies that graced the flower heads in the summer, now risen and returned to perform a lepidopteran danse macabre in anticipation of the coming season. And I sensed a note of the sardonic in their shameless impersonation, for they were mocking me with the knowledge that the dark time is here.

The period between November and January is usually a dark time for me, and it seems to have started early this year. It’s a time of frequent dips into the pit of despond. On several occasions the depression has lasted the whole three months, although that’s unusual and last year I was spared it altogether. It’s a time when acquaintances make themselves scarce, and I don’t blame them one jot for that. Ironically, it’s also a time when I push people away, sometimes quite aggressively. I’ve come to think that perhaps it’s a defence mechanism, because the pre-emptive strike at least gives me some control over the sense of abandonment. People can’t desert you if you’ve already thrown them out. Only the truest of friends refuse to leave, and I don’t need a whole handful of fingers to count the number of those I’ve had.

Accordingly, I’m not sure what this blog will bring over the next three months. It might be nothing out of the ordinary. I might have a good winter this year. Tomorrow I might be writing silly ditties again. At the moment, however, the unwelcome little imp is sitting on my shoulder and threatening to make a nuisance of himself as usual.

Please excuse my candour. As I’ve said in at least two previous posts, that’s what this blog is for. And if it sounds overly dramatic to anybody, that’s just a matter of style. There’s nothing dramatic about the experience. It’s just something miserable to observe and get through.

13 comments:

Nuutj said...

I have never felt that you posts are overly dramatic. IMO, artists like you can feel anything deeper and describe them more vividly.

JJ said...

Thank you, Mei-shan. I suppose that's the point - trying to describe an experience that is personal but also shared, at least in part, by others. Maybe it's futile because a feeling can never be adequately described in any medium. You have to feel the experience in order to know it. No harm in trying though, eh? As for being an artist, I'm not at all sure about that!

Carmen said...

You should keep that image of the leaves in your mind for the next three months:)

JJ said...

What, zombie butterflies?! I'm tempted to rely on the new jar of hot chocolate I bought yesterday. Nice to hear from you, Carms.

Zz... said...

eh you should move to the southern hemisphere...it's all about the weather! although it's not been so great here either...

hey i am friendless too-blame it on your scorpio bits- lol!!! that or excessive brain capacity, lol...need to sit more in the middle of the bell curve don't you know?haha!

JJ said...

You leave my bits out of this, Scorpio or otherwise! They're private (well, actually...)

I do wish I could work you out, ZZ. You're a complete bloody mystery to me.

Anthropomorphica said...

Butterflies fit for Samhain, you've created delightfully dark images in my mind.
It's time for that dark introspective void, hope you don't fall too far, a little can be a blessing though. Light is meaningless and dreary without the darkness Jeff.
I raise a toffee apple to you ;)

JJ said...

I'm planning to put a drop of scotch out for the little people tomorrow night, Mel. No chance you could flutter those wings that I'm sure you reveal after night falls and head this way, and then metamorphose back into a raven-haired beauty with a long white gown and impressive canines?

Ah, the children of the night. What music they make!

No? OK.

Anthropomorphica said...

I'll call vampira for you ;) My mischief always seemed to run to posting dog poo through letter boxes! Yes Jeff, more poo! Here's to bobbing for apples and the smell of singed turnip
Oh, hold on, Mathilda's pulling out her gown of white...
she's partial to a drop of scotch ;)

JJ said...

Oh, right. Er, good. Suppose I'll just go to bed and leave Mathilda to cavort with the little people, then Maybe they'll still be speaking to me the next day. Or maybe it's a good job I don't have a letterbox.

Anthropomorphica said...

Mathilda's been sucking on witches finger tips so that might be wise.
You're safe Jeff! Haven't done the poo thing for many moons, still tickles me though.

JJ said...

To paraphrase:

Even a girl who is pure in heart and says her prayers by night, may become Mathilda when the hemlock blooms and the moon is full and bright.

Brilliant, those old Universal films. And maybe I've discovered your secret!

Anthropomorphica said...

Never a truer word spoken, Mr Beazley ;)

Perhaps...