The front room sofas have seen better days, they are tired looking and getting a little frayed here and there, especially one arm of the sofa nearest the bow window where Alfie ( my little Jack Russell) insists on sitting so he can vocally inform any passer-by or person who has the temerity to step on the front path that he is watching them- he barks at them,behave or else.. The sofas have bore witness to many of our families ups and downs, and have the scars to prove it. They helped my children learn to walk, became caves, mountains, trampolines and dens. They have enveloped and comforted the sad or poorly, been a bed when all the bedrooms have been full to capacity, bounced when people have fallen about laughing on them and so much more. Though tatty, they remain plump and full of boing, in parts the springs may creak a little at times but never fail to bounce back. They are now adorned with throws and cushions to pep them up visually, but I just can't part with them. I have tried, last year I bought a very beautiful, very expensive new suite of softest leather. It resides in the back room. The day of delivery the daughter and I cried at the thought of a quarter of a century of family loyalty having to be cut in half ( they came in through the windows when we moved to our present house) to get out of the house and to be dumped at the tip. No, we couldn't do it.
So one year later I am sat snuggled into the corner of one of the sofas reading, the dog is curled up next to me. I can't concentrate, my mind keeps wandering. The memories are invading my brain and I am feeling choked. It dawned on me that I have been like these sofas for many years. My body has also given me good service on the whole, it has comforted me and mine, through ill health, sad times and happy times. My body is plump and worn in parts too, but unlike the sofas that I have lovingly cared for and tried my best to keep in good shape, my body has been left neglected inside and out for too long. I have a sadness deep inside me that is making me feel unbelievably blue. How is it that I can take such good care of possesions, some hundreds of years old. Get so much joy out of the memories attached to many of them, yet I have let the most important, dearest thing go to rack and ruin - ME.
I don't want to be like the new soft leather suite in the back room, stunningly beautiful, very firm with glossy legs. Noone bothers to sit on it, it will stay pristine for a long time I have no doubt, but it is a lonely sight. BUT, I don't want to be the tatty anf faithful sofas anymore either. I want to lose my stuffing. I want to not creak. I want the inside and outside to look good. I have clung on to some things as a comfort blanket for too many years and I am incredibly sad that I have wasted so much of my life. I am feeling a kind of despair that hasn't been about me for quite a while. Even my 'turn a negative into a positive' mantra and ' things to be grateful for' aren't working. I don't like feeling this way, it has snuck up on me and Caught me off guard.
Trying to be rational and positive, I know I am doing ok with losing the 'plump' and I am very good at saying what has gone, has gone - can't change it so don't beat yourself up about it. Today has floored me. I can't explain why, I was fine this morning. Right this minute I just can't stop crying. I feel like a blethering idiot. 😰