toast for tea

I am on my own in a villa by the sea on my first writers retreat. How to capture the essence of what makes up the moments of my days here? Plod around in vignette, recount snatches, sketch impressions… It starts when I pen a ‘poor me’ entry into my journal. I need a holiday . Two days later I win one. We all enjoy the winnings for the first weekend. We drive to the surf beach, play rummikub, sleep in bedrooms with our own ensuites. Then it’s time for them to leave. All too soon. But their weekday lives beckon, as does the manuscript I’ve come here to revise. As their car rounds the corner and disappears from view, my stomach lurches. I feel the two emotions in equal measure: elation at being on my own, to write – and a panic that claps hold of my body, sending me running for the toilet, as my aloneness threatens to fold in on itself and become the most desolate feeling of loneliness. I plug the portable speaker into the notebook computer and play The Prayer at full volume. I join forc