Haystack Head

When I was a child, our family used to go on holidays every summer out to my mother's home-place in Co. Limerick. It was only 25 miles from where we were living but it might as well have been a different planet. Life was very different there for us "townies". The biggest difference, for me, was the smell. Pigs, cows, chickens, horses, hay, dogs, children, fresh-from-the cow milk, baking and tea, all immensely strong and recognisable. Smells that engulfed, repulsed, captured and enraptured. We spent endless, sun-filled days rolling in haystacks, herding docile cows, chasing wayward pigs, collecting eggs, exploring and discovering. And, all the time, the incredible redolence.

The extreme effort of climbing to the top of a haystack, without falling off, and then, the sheer exhilaration of sliding, arms and legs flailing, down the other side. After several hours of rollicking and rolling, the bellys would be roaring, so, we'd pick ourselves up, shake the stalks off and head back to the house. All the way back, we would be scratching and itching, pulling and dragging, like demented, flea-ridden puppies.

The last few days have seen me, metaphorically speaking, scratching and itching, pulling and dragging, like the afore-mentioned flea-ridden canines. Straw in my clothes, in my hair, in my brain. The smell of haystacks all around me. Why is this? I can only surmise that its the half-baked idea that I could do this NaBloPowhatchamacallitthingy. No problem. Easy peasy. It seemed like a fun, creative, kick-in-the pants idea at the time.

Now, I'm not so sure.

Before November, I'd get on blogger and read, and laugh, and cry and be thoroughly enraptured, entertained, inspired and, occasionally, when the muse struck, write a post myself. I was constantly surprised and delighted that people were visiting and commenting on what I had written. But now, in the throes of NaBloPoMo, I'm clutching at straws, wriggling and squirming, wondering why so and so hasn't been around, why he/she seems to have stopped visiting altogether. Why do I care? Where did my arrogance come from? What made me think I had something to say? And,why was I blogging in the first place? Why has something, which was supposed to be fun, taken me back to the itchy, scratchy days of the haystacks?

I'm just curious as to how, why and when, my ego reared its ugly head and screwed with my brain.

Maybe, its time for me to get my head out of the haystack?

I was never one to flog a dead, or even, a dying horse.