Sunday 10th May – Byron Bay.

Spoke to my parentals this morning, tho I did manage to get the time completely wrong which meant a very sleepy daddy on the other end of the line reminding me sweetly that it was infact midnight in springy time England. I offered to call them back in the morning but my dearest daddy insisted that it was fine for me to be calling when the rest of the united kingdom were tucked up in sleepy time, and urged me to tell him all the latest news, which I am sad to report, was a little depressing.
After at least half and hour of filling papa in on my latest unemployment ventures, and giggling at my most unfortunate situation as only my daddy and I can, he passed the phone over to mother.
I must admit that upon hearing my mummys voice asking me sleepily how everything was going, I immediately found myself choking back a huge lump of homesickness and tears, rendering me unable to answer for a minute or two.
Somehow with just a magical word or two she manages to draw every last morsel of tangled truth out of me, even tho I try my hardest to keep it locked down inside, I find myself verbally vomiting my true feelings about any situation without a second thought. A handy, if not slightly annoying, talent that she has around me and one that I hope to bug the fruits of my loins with one day too.
So I told her all about my frustrations of the joblessness of Byron bay, and my sudden and shocking lack of inspiration and motivation that was, only a week or two ago, a fountain of energy and enthusiasm, that had me oozing a certain euphoria that I felt I could easily live on for ever, laughing at those who choose to drink and take drugs. Yet now I find my self sitting here eyeing up my beloved boys pouch of tobacco, reaching for yet another cup of caffeine filled chai, and wandering if I might someday have to change the name of my unsightly tome to ‘The Demise of Salpant’.
A change that has rendered me feeling lost, hopeless and I hate to use the word depressed as I feel it is ‘oh so overused’, yet my mental thesaurus that is usually lying back with gay abandon, its pages flopped open like some spaghetti western strumpet, ready to be thumbed thru at any given moment to stumble upon an underused and utterly brilliant word, to describe, explain and analyse my marvellous monkey mind, has decided to pack up its pages and remain firmly shut until the madness has stopped and normality has resumed.
Adam assures me that my cure is definatly surya namaskars at 9.30am with Sam, the ashtanga teacher who seems to be made of Play Doh, for another week. In my desperation to regain my yoga toned body that seems to have taken a fair old battering this week as I have given in to the full force of ‘womens time of the month’ and have had a whole 7 days of no exercise, and my sudden and unexpected cravings for chocolate have been granted for the one and only time in my life, I have agreed to return to the ashtanga ‘chamber’ for another week.
So dear devoted readers lets have fingers crossed that the next time I write, I will have untangled the ball of wool that resides in my head and calls itself my ‘mind’, have dropped at least 60 kilos, and taught a few pigs how to fly.
x