Letting it flow

I'm letting it flow.

All of it.

Everything.

Right now I am sad and miserable and itchy and grumpy and greasy and grotty and grim. I am the Plague Child, the One who brings Desolation to the Pregnant, the one who brings the Circle of Death to the Old. I am She who must be Avoided, and I did not seek this out.

But also right now I look at the hope that lies in a brown paper bag. I look at the colours that shift beneath my eyes and the needle that waits and the cottons that beg me to use them, and I know that from this enforced isolation will come things of joy, things for the needy, things for the unloved, things for the bereft. I know that all will be well in the world.

All will be well, all will be well.

One can hope, that all will be well.

But I know it will. Chicken pox is a childs disease, easily beatable by a 34 year old with time and paitence. Cabin Fever is slightly more difficult, but I can beat that with a needle and thread and books and the internet.

I can do anything. I CAN do anything!

I do not have to be the Plague Child, because these quilts I make will bring joy to the recievers. A plague of love? Perhaps so.

And so a shower, material in the washing machine, to dry in the hot hot sun. Uniform for the man to sort and iron, hoovering, cleaning, all the dull things to be done and done.

And when they are done? There shall be me, a multitude of colours, a big bottle of squash, and the Box Set of Jonathan Creek. And there will be joy. I will make it so.