Crisis, age 53, Paris

In the cafe I used to come to on Boulevard de Sebastopol. Unfortunately the croissants are finished, but I have coffee anyway. Oh, god, but it’s good. Why do I feel so sad? So full of affect? I carry loneliness, despair and extreme self hatred around with me. I carry a huge sack of failure and uselessness. I feel like such an abject failure, that I am not a success at the things I want to be a success at (no, that’s not true, that’s my fucked up mind spinning me lies, I have just been the “internationally acclaimed etc” in Oz). I feel so lonely. I was desperate for a bit of time, now I have it and I am desperate in it. Even though I have much work to do this weekend, I am scared of the time alone. But I need this time, to do my work, to learn two songs, to sort things out and yet I despair of being here, once again alone, in Paris, and there is nobody who knows or cares and nobody to invite me anywhere. Christine is away, Haim is away, Heather I see on Tuesday, Julia is away. I just contacted Vincent. And this is inside me. It does not matter where I am, I carry this deep aloneness-no, loneliness-within me. I had it in London, I have it in America. Yet I guard so fiercely my space. I wonder how it is that I don’t have a partner, a lover, a musical partner, a work partner? Yet I have had all these things, all of them, sometimes all at the same time. And next weekend I do not see the point of my being here, now there is no performance to do on Saturday. There is no performance, C is away, H still, and so I will have an entire weekend waiting to leave. If I could bear or afford it, I could go home to Manchester and be with my family, be with dad. Maybe I should look for a flight. But I have no spare cash to play with and a long journey home on the Monday, and plans to return to the UK only 3 and a 1/2 weeks after that. Hmm, already I feel a little better. I need to know I’m making choices rather than being powerless and caught. E keeps telling me I should write my autobiography. How can I when I am still living it and have not yet achieved the things I want to achieve? Maybe I should just eat, buy food and go home and attend to some of the many things I need to attend to before I go out this afternoon. Au revoir. With glee, I find myself in an Indian restaurant for a veggie thali, down in the covered corridor passage way that I neglected to re-discover only last week. It rains. It’s cold. I am fine. I must stop listening to the nagging insistence of my misery and focus instead on reality and gratitude in those times because, to be honest, life’s pretty amazing: dad’s still alive (in hospital), I am in Paris staying with my nice friend, I have friends in Paris, I have just been to many places (I’ve been on the road for three months already), I have enough money to have lunch out, every day if I wish, I have just had my 2nd osteopathic appointment which has sorted out my back and neck, I have many good things happening, I can take an extended time in Manchester over Christmas. On Thursday I went to the theatre with E, then we went for a drink after; that was nice. God, that food was bloody good. Fantastique! I think the spices have lifted my mood somewhat. Maybe I will walk home in the rain after all.