Nothing to say, yet
Transcription
The speaker is enjoying their solitude in their van and has everything they need, including food, water, and entertainment. They discuss their routine of going to the library to charge their phone and the challenges of cooking in the van. They prefer to eat cold foods like peanut butter and crispbreads. They talk about their upcoming therapy session and their hesitation about sharing a recording with their therapist. They mention their desire to walk in the woods and the need for a pair of short wellingtons. They reflect on the comfort of their van and the compromises they make for this lifestyle. They express contentment in their current situation and appreciate the opportunity to share their thoughts and experiences. They mention the possibility of having a video call with someone and the potential for it to change their relationship. They also discuss their uncertainty about what to do regarding something they shared with their therapist. I wanted to be alone, to live alone, on my own, my way, and I am. Don't know if the microphone picks up, but it's currently pouring. I'm in the van, and I expect to stay in it. I have food and water. I've been out today, but I knew this was to be happening, and I could venture out later, around 5.30, if I want an evening meal, and get dressed up in my waterproofs and take a walk. There's a covered bike stand, it's not very big, on the way back, that I can stand in and eat if I want to. So if it's raining and windy, it's a clear perspex shelter, I'm protected, and can eat. And I did it yesterday, and I like it, because even though it's a bit tricky, there's nowhere to sit, or even balance, put the food down, except on the floor, it means that I don't have to make the van both steamy and smelly. I hate the smell of food, after I've finished eating, lingering, I just want clean air. So I'll stand there, no one else ever does that, there's nothing else in there by that time. But it does mean I have to get dressed up, go out, I still may come back wet, I have to hang things up, I try to limit the amount of damp I bring into the van, because it's damp. And it's not cold enough to have hot air heating on, not for long anyway, so I can't really dry things well. But that's just the way it is. I'm not complaining, I'm just explaining. I can let go of the world, I don't have to go and get that food, I don't have to get out of my cosy dressing gown, and enter the world again. I was in the library this morning, downloading a few things, most of which I discard when I look at them. I have everything I need here, I can do everything I need to do here. I just like using the library, and also I charge up my battery bank, which I use to power my phone. Rather than watch the laptop or use the internal battery that's charged by the sun, I use a battery that's charged by the library. Either way it's free. Free electricity. But I'm OK being in. I mean, I've made sure I've got some things, maybe not nothing as good as getting a meal cooked by somebody that's delicious. I've even got things I could heat up, cook, pasta, rice, soup, if I wanted to, but again the same problem arises, that the place smells, and I can't open the windows to let it out because it's raining. So I would rarely cook except during the day, early, and I can have windows open which can help, but I still don't like it. So I keep cold things. I've got peanut butter and some rye crispbreads, both of which don't go off, both of which require no preparation, both of which are fairly unprocessed and natural, and I can have something that's tasty and nutritious and filling easily. I've got some sweet things too, I've got a sweet tooth still. I've got tins of peaches, and I've got some bananas and a bit of chocolate, just, you know, nibbles. I don't have much. And enough water so that I don't have to leave. I can hold up in my little cave and just do my thing. Reading, watching, listening, and I can talk. And that's... I don't want more than that. Tomorrow I will have a two-hour session with Eliza, and that will be interesting because, or could be interesting because I sent her a nine-minute recording last week after having a very difficult session with her. I'm not exactly sure what I said. It was recorded high, and I sent it to her, which is the first time I've ever done that, with a message saying, when you have time, would you listen to this? I sent it on a Friday. And on Tuesday morning, I got a very simple message saying, I have listened to it. Nothing else. No, hello, no, I have listened to it. I didn't reply. I didn't know what to say. I could have said, OK, good, thank you, what did you think? I just didn't do any of that. I thought about all of it and then decided to do nothing. And so when I see her tomorrow, depending on factors, I don't know what will come from it, if anything. I'm not even sure I want anything to come from it. I felt a bit strange having said what I said in the way that I said it, and I certainly don't feel like I'll be repeating that any time soon. But apart from that, I have no reason to leave. I chop up my bananas when there's only a couple left. I get four at a time, and can't always get ones I like, so sometimes I don't. And I chop up my tins of peaches, provided they still have some. Usually four at a time. They're very cheap, and I really like having them. I do that early, to get it done and out of the way, weather permitting. And if I don't have to, I don't leave the van. Maybe no more than one day doing that, but maybe more than once a week. And as the weather closes in, colder... When it's cold, I'll be in the library, the radiators will be on, I'll be able to dry things as well. They're sort of quite wide radiators, so easy to put wet underwear, socks, even a t-shirt could be put there while I sit next to it. I couldn't turn it into a Chinese laundry, but with a bit of care, I can get things dry. It's quite nice. Plus it's just warm, and I don't need to sit in a cold, damp van, otherwise I'll be constantly heating it, and that's not my intention. But I'll do whatever I have to do, depending on what it is I want to do. I've got several layers on, I'm quite warm. It's not cold in the van, it can be colder, and then I'll put a bit of heating on. And I can be warm very quickly, because it's a small space and a very efficient heater. And that's it. I don't feel like I want to walk anywhere. I only walk to get things, I don't walk just for exercise or to fill in time. Don't go down to the sea, it's very difficult, lots of splashing and high waves and salty air, and I don't need to be around that. Lots of seaweed being deposited on the promenade, and stones and small rocks get shoved up there as well, with the violence. Don't need to be there. I can't really go into the woods, even though I haven't been into the woods at all since I've been back. But it's a bit too wet now, although I am on the lookout for a pair of short wellingtons. Because I've seen the kind I like and the right price, it just didn't have my size, but there's a chance that they will at some point, and I'll just pop back in there until I can. And that, once I can get some comfortable inserts, some gel inserts that aren't more expensive than the wellingtons, I may have to wait, three or four pounds would be right, and little do that from time to time. I almost bought a pair last time as I knew I'd get these things, but didn't. But they come round in cycles, so I'll wait. I'll get the boots, and I might wait, just to get the inner soles before I actually use them. But I'm happy to walk through the woods in wellingtons, because it doesn't matter how muddy it is. You can always wash them off. And I've got a nice, fast-flowing spring water that one would wash off wellingtons well in, actually. Now I think about it. And that's it. I'm not after anything else. Oh yes, I've got my sewing kit today. A 24-piece little sewing kit with a little tape measure and a tiny scissors and a little spindle, and a few little spools of cotton and some needles and a threading thing and some pins. It's a tiny little kit. It's got 21 or 24 pieces in it. One pound, in a little box. So I can sew up my split in my other sweatpants, jogging bottoms, which I'll do at some point. One pound. Perfect. I don't need anything. I don't... I'm not... I have everything I need. Don't have to do anything. Can have long periods where I am just here. Just being me. Doing me. And I get to talk about it. I don't know if it's a real indulgence. Maybe it is. Doesn't matter, because I get to do it. Whether sharing it, whether you hearing it, if you are, makes it seem indulgent, then that might be valid. But me doing it is just something I like to do. And I'm not actually talking to you at this time. I'm just talking. But if you hear it, then in some ways I must have been talking to you, because you're listening. But is there anything in it, actually? No, not really. Is there any point to this? I don't think so. It's just a sort of reflection, an observation on this moment. Which means, if you are listening, then you're in this moment with me. You're where you are, but it is this moment, and you may feel that... some of that as I am. Even though, in a sense, it's a different moment, you're in the future, my future, whereas you're present, but yet you're listening to it now, and I'm saying it now, so it is the same moment, is it not? They say, some say, there's only one moment. It is the content of the moment that changes, not the moment itself. But I'm saying this in exactly the same way that you're hearing it, and whatever time may have passed between its creation and its being heard is irrelevant. It's all happening now. And if you get to feel some of that now-ness with me, then we're experiencing something together, which I like. I like that, even though I don't know that you are. It's important for me to be able to be in this space. Somebody asked a while back a question I'd never been asked before. Is it comfortable? Are you comfortable in the van? My answer at the time was, for the most part, yeah, but that's not really the answer. That was just my not really thinking answer. I am comfortable. There are times when I'm comfortable, of course, but it's not comfortable in the sense that being in a proper bedroom with a proper bed in a house comfortable. No, that is the compromise to have this experience, to live this way. I don't have a proper bed. It's not as comfortable as I would like. It's more akin to camping than it is living in a bedroom when I'm in bed. But then this is a camper, and so while I've done my best to make it more comfortable, it's not comfortable enough. The chair I sit in is comfortable. I've made it more comfortable by putting a silicon cushion that's on it, which definitely helps. What doesn't, what is missing are armrests. I would have liked armrests that could have even swivelled up and down to put my elbows on. I do like an armrest, what they call a captain's chair. This doesn't have it, so it's not as comfortable as it could be. I also don't have a comfortable footrest. I can open the bottom part of the chair out into the bed, and I can reach it with my feet. So I've got foot, I can have my feet up, but it's just a bit further away than I would like to be comfortable. Compromises, these are all compromises in what I have experienced before that makes it more comfortable for me. So this is just a variation of that. But to live this life, that's how it has to be. If I want the comfort of a proper bed and a proper duvet and being able to get up, just go into my en-suite bathroom and have a shower or use the toilet, I can't live like this. I have to live like that. And I don't want to live like that, so I accept the lack of what I could imagine as being more comfortable. But then I have had all of that before, and that comfort has been appreciated at the time, but the price for it wasn't something I could pay. So yeah, I guess I just want to share that with you, to share this moment. And if I wasn't talking about it, well, it wouldn't be, it wasn't, it isn't that I wouldn't notice it, I just wouldn't notice it as specifically as I am when I speak about it. I would not take it for granted, but accept that that is how it is and already be, what am I doing next? Am I reading now? Will I watch something? Do I want to nibble on something? Am I thirsty? Do I need to pee? It's pouring with rain, so after peeing, open the window, pouring out, it runs down the river into the drain, convenient. I don't have to leave. The only thing that would make me want to leave is if I have to poo, and then I have to tie that bag up and put it in my rubbish bag and tie that bag up, which stops me being able to notice, so I can still smell something otherwise, but I won't like to have that in here longer than I need to. I'll want to get it to the bin as soon as I can. If it's pouring like this, there's no chance. So I'm glad that that usually only takes place in the morning. I usually do it in the library, and if I do do it in the van, I knock it, I drop it in the bin on the way out. That's the only thing that could make me want to have to leave the van. I would accept not leaving it if that happened though, when it's raining like this. So I'm in my nest, I'm nesting. I'm cosy, I've got a dressing gown on, I've got my hoods on, I've got some warm socks on, and I'm okay. I'm good. I'm content. And that I think is a big deal, to be able to stop and reflect on this moment and come to feel contentedness, to recognise contentedness. It's not something I can just take for granted. I haven't always had it, and it has affected me terribly when I haven't. Some of which you will know about if you remember older recordings of me talking when I walked around the fields and the nature reserve and the park of my previous life. It's a journey, and we're on it together. And it's nice, for however long we are able to do that, even though it's not quite a couple of years since we first met. See, now I am talking to somebody. It seems a lot longer, it seems like it's sort of always been there, even though it's not a very continuous exchange. It never really has been. There can be moments when it has, but on the whole there are gaps, there are large gaps, which I think probably helps sustain it, keeps the longevity, because it doesn't become overwhelming. There's not too much. I've always got many more things that could be talked about, but from, I think, from your perspective, even if it's not seen this way, that life simply makes it this way, that actually it creates enough space to keep it going. That's what makes it different in many ways. With my ex-friend Lou, we could sustain intense connections on a daily basis. With everybody else, the connection peters out at some point, because it perhaps just gets used up. Too much interaction. And that's why this is different, and maybe that's why this works. And I'm grateful for that. Even though there are times when, if I'm being honest, more contact would be appreciated, it's only at times, because the rest of the time it is what it is. And what it is is fine, as it is. I have thought about what it might be like to have a moment of screen time, face time, I'm sure it could be done, Skype, to be literally in the same moment. To not necessarily have loads to say, I don't know I've got loads to say, but stuff can happen, but even just to share the moment, even if there are pauses and silences, while perhaps something arrives to continue it, I don't know. I have no idea what doing such a thing would be like, I just don't do it. If I was in the company of somebody that I felt comfortable to be in, there would naturally be silences. Who could be talking all the time? Who would want to? Companionable silence, they call it. That doesn't mean that can't happen electronically, it's probably less likely, just because of doing it that way, but it's not impossible. Anyway, I'm not suggesting that that takes place, I'm just saying that I have thought that that could take place at some point. Maybe it would be a very interesting experience to have. It would change things, I am sure. I can't say in what way, but it would definitely change things. And maybe that explains why it hasn't happened. Changing things isn't always in their best interest. There was a woman I spoke to that there was a connection, we were able to talk in a way that was connecting, but we'd never met. I made it happen, I kind of insisted a little bit, and we had our Skype moment, and it changed things so much that actually we lost the relationship, the connection. Didn't really speak after that. So I'm reluctant to insist. It would have to be something that was mutually wanted, spontaneously recognized, technologically easy, and so on. So when I think those things, generally I let them go. I should be happy with what I have, rather than want to change things. It is why I am not sure what to do about what I've said about Eliza to Eliza. I have no idea. I have in a sense complicated things a bit, even though I have let it go, it is still in existence. It may change things, or it may not. If I do nothing specifically about it, it may just disappear. But sometimes I just have to go for it. I just have to... I said it, I meant it, I feel it, I'm supposed to share it, so I do. But it can change things. I just have to accept that. That's all.
