This is an improvised piece which stems from a writing prompt in which the writer is invited to use the sights/sounds/smells/feelings/taste of what is around them as a launching point for whatever comes next.

I am aware...

...of a sonorous throb that ebbs and flows like an unreliable tide. I think it has something to do with the ground source heating system in the new house, but I’m no engineer so how would I know? I think there are pipes or pumps under the floor and in the walls which contribute, along with the clicking of thermostats in every room and the hall and the landing, to the glowering unease that haunts me at bedtime and through the night. I am aware of the high pitched buzz of air conditioning units at the farm on the other side of the wall or at the vets next door. I am aware of the laptop’s fan working overtime, as though at any minute it will expel its final breath. I am aware of the need to back things up. I am aware of the call of other housekeeping – administration – the thought of which leaves me breathless and trembling and I am aware that some of this could be remedied by taking simple actions and I am aware that yet again, today I will not take those actions. I am aware that the a/c units, if that is what they are, have stopped and now all I hear is the fan and my fingers bashing the keyboard. I am aware that despite the under floor heating my toes feel cold. A car door slammed a moment ago and the throbbing has begun again. I was wondering if I was listening to the sound of blood pulsing around my head, but it must be the heating system or the air conditioning or the fridge on the other side of this wall. I hadn’t thought about the fridge. The fridge in the garage – our old fridge, which is now a beer and wine fridge and sometimes stores leeks and extra ice and frozen bread – is a throbber too, but surely it’s not that. I am aware – I have always been aware – that I am hypersensitive to sounds that break silence or disturb the near silence in which I would prefer to operate/exist. I am aware that my heart is beating faster than it should and that it’s time for tea not coffee which would only serve to increase that worrying heartbeat. I am aware that today I still feel sad and anxious and I don’t want to write, because despite the success of yesterday I just don’t feel up to it this morning. I am aware that I have five or six magazines waiting to be read and another one will land on the mat later and I am aware that even though these journals are important sources of material with regard to the infinite variety of human nature, I must cancel some subscriptions because what is the point when all it causes is more unease? I am aware that cancelling them will lead to FOMO and I am aware that I do not like myself for writing FOMO. I am aware of a gathering storm, which feels like my default setting and I am aware how self-indulgent this sounds. Nevertheless, when I have nothing concrete to worry about I worry because I have nothing concrete to worry about. It has long been said that I am a worrier and it worries me that this will never change. But this gathering storm is as real as a real storm, although it is within our power to change the course of the gathering storm if we work together. But I am aware that the optimism of some months ago when people did seem to be working together and reminding each other to be nice and be kind has all but drained away. I am aware that I want to have faith, but what I honestly feel is fear that enough of us won’t work together and won’t wear our masks and wash our hands and keep our distance. I am aware that this lack of faith can be traced to a lack of faith in the people at the top and I am well aware that this sounds like easy and idle politicking or point scoring, but I am not a politician and against whom would I be scoring points? I am aware of a desire for the kind of leadership – at a national level – that I never thought I would want or need. I am aware of wishing that these privileged buffoons (wind your neck in Rob) will somehow see the light and cease all this guff about aiming for the moon when what they should be doing is focusing on testing and tracing and the one thousand other things that could be achieved if they put together an informed strategy rather than issuing headline-grabbing sound bites that serve only to deflect the spotlight from their collective failures and incompetence. I am aware that it’s okay to vent, but after that, what is left? I am aware of feeling powerless in the face of something so huge and terrifying – because yes, I am frequently terrified – that the least you can do and perhaps the best you can do is stay in. And stay positive. I am aware that I have a responsibility to my family to be positive and supportive and not to crumble and cower in a corner. I am aware of the feeling I had when I crashed the car: the shaking of the head as if waking from a dream; and the desperate and sickening desire that it was/is a dream and that it wasn’t/isn’t happening. I am aware of that other time, when the deer ran out of nowhere and into the front of the car; it happened too quickly and there was nothing I could do, no chance of swerving out of the way and yes I am aware that there are parallels and what is interesting about that is that the car was badly damaged but not written off and when I got out of the car, having frozen in my seat for what seemed like hours but must have been less than sixty seconds, the deer was nowhere to be seen.