The idyllist

This morning I lay awake dominated by two things.

The first was a dream about a hotel with an amateur dramatic group preparing to go on stage and a room full of tiny black and white kittens with their mothers.  I wanted milk for them, but was reduced to stealing some from the communal fridge.  I didn’t seem concerned about finding the eye-dropper I intended to use to feed them.   Undoubtedly the meaning of all this will appear sometime today.

The second was an argument between

“You could get up and go for your walk now while it’s cool – energy, enthusiasm, doing the right thing, then the whole day to get things done”

… and …

“SSlleeeeep!  Sslleeeeep!”

 

Then suddenly out of nowhere the thought that “She’s an idyllist” – meaning me – I’m an idyllist.

 

HHmmm how witty!

 

Not an id-eee-ya-list, but idyllist.

 

What a useful identity.

I like the concept of idyllic.  If there’s one thing that lifts me up it’s “idyllic”.

Sunshine is idyllic.

Happiness is idyllic.

Creativity is idyllic.

 

Ooops perhaps I have the wrong meaning.  What exactly is this thing called an “idyll”  or is it “idyl”?

Hmm, Google and Wikipedia tell me that it’s a short poem or piece of music descriptive of rustic/rural/pastoral life.

Not quite what I thought … but    Yep I think that’s my new identity.

 

The psychic I saw earlier this week said I had a connection with the rural and of course she is right.

I grew up on the land.

I love the country – trees, grass, the earth, the distances.

Why shouldn’t I add the sea to that?

And the mountains?

OK, that’s me, I’m the idyllist!