Nikki LeDree

Ah Nine Inch Nails blasting from my speakers. ‘Closer’ to be specific. A song I spent far too much time listening to as one of those teenager things. It’s strange how the meaning of the song seems different now than it did then. I must confess myself to feeling a little hot and flustered at the video. That didn’t seem to happen when I was younger. The word “fuck”, which I seem to employ in most sentences (only around family and close friends mind -_o), has never seemed so attractive.

But enough idle fantasising. I’m too sick for that. Yesterday I felt so dizzy that I had to go lie down. The room swirled around me, I felt like water getting sucked down a plug hole. I feel a bit better today. Still not quite right though. Extreme bouts of melancholy plagued my day. I drifted around work in a pounding haze. It felt like someone had punched me in the stomach and left behind a huge hollow space. I had no energy to do anything. I still don’t really. I wrote a poem in my head about it.

There’s this pain in my stomach
But I think it’s in my head
There’s this pain in my stomach
But I’ve already been fed
There’s this pain in my stomach
But there’s nothing there
There’s this pain in my stomach
Really,
It’s getting too much to bare…

I spent the morning before I had to go to work drawing and listening to some Christopher Hitchens (as he is never boring) and Mark Twain, The Mysterious Stranger and some essays about god and religion. Really gets you thinking. I remember watching that weird claymation film The Adventures of Mark Twain, the only thing I remember from it was The Mysterious Stranger bit. I remember it freaked me out when I was little but in a good sort of way. Listening to it being read is really something else though. What an amazing wordsmith, makes me want to finish writing my story Ataxia. I really must get some audio books lined up for when I’m drawing but don’t want to listen to music.

I find myself thinking of my grandma lately. I think it’s because it’s getting close to when her birthday would be. Maybe that’s why I feel so inexplicably down. These are happy thoughts though. Times of drinking tea and eating cake, talking about things. Day trips out, shopping in town, helping with the garden. She was such an influence on me. She taught me to draw and always encouraged me. I’ve said it before but she simply understood it. Such a precious thing to me. When I draw I think of her, though she’s not here anymore I can feel her hand guiding mine, within me through her influence she is still here. Metaphorically of course. I don’t believe in ghosts or an afterlife. Yes I do feel it necessary to state that for if it were taken that way it would undermine the beauty of my sentiment.

Though I do sometimes get this sudden heavy pain in my heart when I feel I want to ask her something or show her my latest drawing, I think of the happy memories we shared and I smile.

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