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Location: Dublin, Republic of, Ireland

Friday, 2 February 2007

The Silent Game

Of late, my old friend, the subconscious, pans its mischief into my waking life like a footpath gone awry.

It is irksome to follow my future when the past calls from the playground.

I see cherubs on the oceanfront and the waiting waves.

Where have you been all this time, they lament.

Busy growing old, I whisper grinning.

I know them well, my toybook friends.

Once before, we were waiting for the steamer lights to show up in the night sky. But that was when I was 8 with my daddy, eating lollies on the beach and he was reading to me from a picture book. The sleepy swallows had hollered for us to be quiet from the treetops.

And so we had got up to go a long time ago. Didn't I remember to say goodbye to the tide?

Have they been waiting all this time? All this time?

Coming, they say?

It's all to do with my subconscious, I tell you, showering lively scenes of the past, like a bucketful of confetti. A quiet celebratory moment surely.

Have I entered a sudden phase? Will it last? Perhaps the idea is to make the most of the moment.

On waking up, I am faced with the vision of a deck of cards. Your turn to shuffle, says my deep innner self. What memory would you like today? What old vision for the morning matinee?

This is entertainment. So makebelieve your buttered toast for popcorn and a coke.

I smile and hug my blanket. I feel like a little girl of 6 who got away without brushing her teeth. It is our secret game.

My conscience - twinned by a conscious intellect tells me different. It is the bustling, nagging mother. "Aren't you writing your play? Why aren't you writing your play? It doesn't buy my feeble excuses my having to think up murder and suspense. "Rubbish," it screams. "Write your play!!! I hold its skirts and shuffle along forwards. Like, "do your homework..."

The subconscious shadows my movements and once more tries a sleeve-tug. "Not today", I whisper. I have to think of my future today and cannot play."

It reminds me of Jefferson Davis's pensive post on Groundhog day and his lifelike picture of the woodland creature. Immediately, I had basked in, The Wind in the Willows. Such a happy thought for an early morning.

I am convinced now. We have a good partnership, the subconscious and I.

It promises a new deck of cards for tomorrow. I say, ok and we giggle. To the passer-by, I am the grown woman with her thoughtful, wistful smile. No one sees my friend. Our game is secret.

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