I guess it always is, but sometimes the joints show. The calendar is running ahead of me, or behind, I'm not sure which. Yesterday I went to THE NORMAN CONQUESTS, the trilogy of plays by Alan Ayckbourn, all related, each complete, a marathon of viewing and thinking. I threw myself under the wheels of pleasure (to paraphrase Christopher Fry), and so I missed yesterday's blog - but I wrote the end of the day before's blog just before midnight, so now it's early morning the next day and I'm still on yesterday. So, as I say, the time is out of joint. I've said it before: we take in more knowledge, entertainment, distraction, information and yes, emotional content in a week than people in other centuries, even other decades were exposed to in six months or a year. It's not the taking in, it's the absorption. We need time to assimilate. So today - do I have time to assimilate? No. I'm facing another glorious assault on the senses. Does anyone remember or know about THE YOUNG VISITERS (sic)? Around the turn of the 20th century a nine-year-old girl wrote a novel, a romance, from the pov of a child, sophisticated but unworldly. Mr Salteena, I remember, was the name of the hero. Anyway, the story was a record of parties and dances and lovely events, with lots of ice cream. In fact, "life was a round of gaierty (sic)." [I'm having trouble getting Spelchek (sic) to accept my spelling deviations. Do I complain when it puts words in my copy?] The book was published, and re-published; I saw it a few years ago. The little girl's name was Daisy Ashford - I'm sure of Daisy, not quite so sure of Ashford. Anyway, the phrase , "a round of gaierty" became a line we cherished and used, and I still use it. My life lately has been a round of gaierty and it's difficult to absorb. Anon, anon. MY power is running low.

Oh dear, this is why I went away. There's too much going on. I'll be back (today) as soon as I can.

It's still today, just. I think I'm suffering withdrawal symptoms - withdrawal from my retreat, that is. I'm not full of angst, not really stressed, just busier than I was with several disparate things. I get through as much as I can and then I get sleepy-tired and stop for a while.

Today on a bus a man tripped over the wheels of a grocery cart belonging to a man sitting down. I don't know which one snarled first but suddenly they were like cats hissing at each other. When the tripping one moved away, the sitting one shoved the wheels of his buggy against his assailant's legs. (Who was the assailant?) Then a woman across the aisle told him to behave. Then another woman a few seats down snapped at someone - who? And here was this mini-war that had broken out in a bus, for heaven's sake. No, not for heaven's sake. Were they all stressed? Very strange.

Perhaps I am not engaged enough to get so peevish. Perhaps I am too ladylike to yell in public. Most of the time I don't get angry, not stomping, shouting angry. I get resentful which is not healthy either, because resentment creates a slow burn. I have a friend who unknowingly telegraphs her anger by saying, "it makes me laugh" and then she tells you what insult or injury she has sustained or bad behaviour she has witnessed that makes her laugh. Not ha ha, not jolly laughter, more like rueful - or resentful. Resentment is not healthy, But neither is skirmishing in a bus.

Well, so, there goes another day. Anon, anon. It will be tomorrow very soon.