A friend reminded me that today my Do Drama book is published. He heard from the fb post of another friend, and I don’t know how she knew. I’m supposed to be flooding social media with self promotion. Easier said than done. I have – I think – 8 followers on Instagram, and probably the same on fb (three of them are granddaughters) so it’s not so much a flood as a trickle.
And then there’s you, so, dutifully, here goes –
It seems that I’m as good on social media as I am at business generally. I just hate this self-promotion thing. Just hate it. Don’t get it. Wouldn’t it be great if money didn’t make the world go around? If we had no need of it? If each of us had a skill we could barter for the things we need in life, like in the old days? ‘Need’, not ‘want’. Maybe then I would have ditched the written word to learn something useful like weaving, or rearing goats, or growing mushrooms.
Still feeling a bit queasy and dizzy, I went to lie down at lunchtime, and immediately, I mean IMMEDIATELY, I had these three sitting on my shoulders, chest and tummy. Actually those little paws in my torso seemed to help. A sort of satisfyingly painful massage.
It’s a lovely Spring day, the sun is streaming in, and as I was lying there I was watching a wasp in the rooflight. All that sunshine, all those miles of countryside just half an inch away, hillsides white with daises, roadsides shimmering with bluebells, and that poor wasp was battering himself against my window, hopelessly. He has maybe two or three days of life and tomorrow it’s going to rain. Did you know that wasps are immensely valuable to the world? They eat the aphids and tiny creatures that devour roots and mangle leaves. We all make a big fuss of bees, loving them and protecting them and all that, but wasps – their much misunderstood cousins – are more sinned against than sinning.
Poor wasp. Such a short life to spend hours battering against a pane of glass, bewildered.
I found myself trying to work out how to help him – I could get the vacuum cleaner, turn it to ‘blow’ instead of ‘suck’, climb up a step ladder, and gently blow him away and out into the big warm world. If I knew how to turn the machine from suck to blow, and had a step ladder, and could climb it, and had an extension cord to reach the plug and… and… and..
But I don’t have any of those things so I stayed there, sympathising with the wasp, and absolutely no earthly use to him, with the dogs pinning me down, as the world carried on regardless.
That has to be a metaphor for something.