Tilling #2

Moving in. I'm leaving. Don't go.

3 different pieces of writing responding to an exercise; each a different stage of the same narrative.

1.

I sometimes leave a couple of days worth of pots on the side when I have busy days She says nothing but looks understandingly but I'll leave them in a neat pile and do them as soon as possible.

And I don't mind doing some of yours if you leave them out. She smiles and laughs. I bloody love Tupperware she opens the Tupperware cupboard and looks happy.

I want the cat to love me she knows that he loves her more and secretly enjoys this fact.

I like the bath to be rinsed after use she looks at her feet and twiddles her thumbs, this is not something she has done in the past.

I make a cup of tea each morning to start my day. I am irritable without it. She nods, she knows me far too well. I hope she makes me tea and brings it to me in bed.

Shall we get rid of some of the extra TV channels? I think we should to save money. She looks relieved to to not have to spend anything extra.I think we will make a good team. She nods. She looks happy.

2.

There needs to be more than two rooms and they need to be… oh and there goes the, 'do you even want to move in together' kind of look..big enough to feel like we can escape…and they try to speak but don’t know quite what yet..I can see that you are confused but we need to establish…oh don’t start to walk away…that I am ok on my own, that I don’t need you…you’re going to turn any minute now and verbally attack me, there’s the shrug of your shoulders just there….I like being here with you but it’s important that we keep on our own tragect……I should just shut up, your beginning to walk further away…. and we need to stay two separate people….your looking as confused as I feel right now….I’m just saying that it’s good we have so many rooms…please believe me, turn around, please……

3.

I've been thinking about what you said. Yesterday.

She's wiping down the counter with the jay cloth I use for windows. She is carelessly wiping all of the crumbs onto the floor and not in her hand. Why would you do that? Moving mess isn't actually cleaning. I'll do that. I will end up hovering all over again otherwise. She stops. She looks at me, searching my face, like I'm a jigsaw puzzle.

I was saying that I've had some time to think about what you said. I know you've said it before and we've just left it, and carried on and she is rolling her eyes and walking away. I understood that you meant it this time, that stopped her in her tracks I know you meant it. And I realise that it isn't fair on either of us to carry on this way. She is looking at me again. I can't make out her expression, what it means and what she is thinking. Without at least talking about it.

I don't resent you. She looks shocked.I don't want you to go. She is crossing her arms across her body, shifting her weight onto one leg, she thinks she has the upper hand here.I am grateful for everything you do Is that smugness?

Tilling an old project in spring, ready for a new crop of creative work in summer.

I'll be honest I think I spent a good fifteen minutes trying to pun the Blog title so I can wittily introduce this new project.

A few years back Six Lips Theatre produced a new play written by Roxanna Klimaszewska called Tilling. The show explored how a recent widow was coming to terms with her solitary future after recent bereavement.

We had an amazing time producing this show in 2011 with Saint Nicholas's Field Eco Centre as part of International Women's Week, but we left the project with a great sense that the project had scope and potential to develop further and that it's issues were always socially relevant. 

Not only is it exciting to be reworking this project, it also marks the beginning of a new collaboration and association with an exciting up and coming dramaturg: Miss Lizzy Whynes.

We will be updating you with creative outcomes of our workshops over the rehearsal process. Here is some creative writing from today. 

This was constructed using case studies and using set prepositions as stimulus. The theme was Loneliness:

I am resigned to acceptance now. I was frantic at first, trying to keep occupied, and almost stimulated by my freedom, my lack of rules. But now I live mostly in my mind; memories, conversations (with myself and imaginary). My mind has become my playground, my work place, my home.

The same scenery over again. I sound like a broken record and I feel like I'm sat on one. I try and break ritual but to what end? To try and appear less pathetic. To who? Who is watching and who cares? I feel better in a routine, it suits me and I feel daily satisfaction from it, even if it does make me seem tedious.

Cleaning products are the most pungent smell in my house. Now I have all the time in the world to clean, I realise how filthy I was before. How quickly dirt accumulates and how regularly things need attention. Since my irreversible revelation of a higher level of hygiene and true cleanliness , I feel a gnawing necessity to maintain these new standards. Some days I avoid cooking or eating to avoid sullying my puritanical work.

I don't really dabble in emotional affairs any more, so my feelings are restricted to small outcomes of the domestic day to day. I couldn't tell you how I 'feel' any more.

I am becoming something I was always a afraid of being when I got to this age, but I think this was an innocent, inexperienced view point. Looking at old age as a young person, full of life, drama and distractions, this sort of life seems repetitive, boring, unstimulating, unchallenging. I suppose it is, but I am here and I never thought I'd let this happen to me. I have let this happen to me, so I assume, it's inevitable.