You really want to know about what I did last night?
I knitted.
I know. I'm on a writer's retreat with all of these fabulous people, and I ended up in the chapel with a few others working on the little scarves I've been stitching away at for an eternity. There's a great comfort in knitting. My friend was working on a sock. She's said that she will teach me how to turn a heel one of these days.
There's a great camaraderie in knitting, I find.
Yes, I went to the music quiz for a bit, staying for the first round, dancing along to the bangers, providing a few answers to a couple of the teams (Supertramp sang The Logical Song, which I still adore. I have done for fifty years).
Now, I'm sitting here in a Pixies band t-shirt after going for a dip in the Southern Ocean, knowing that I will be heading back to Melbourne, and my cat, in a few hours. I've got my messy set up. There's all the things I need to be a writer. Tarot cards. Notebook. Shells that were found on the beach yesterday afternoon. Decaffeinated coffee. Turkish Delight (Don't judge me too harshly - I am one of THOSE people). My manuscript. Bag of peripherals - which has come in handy. A biro.
Do I want to go home? No. But I must.
Being honest, I've done very little writing this weekend. And this is okay. I had the trip from hell coming down here. It took two hours to get from my home in Richmond to Hoppers Crossing, an accident at Kororoit Creek snarling up the traffic for miles. There was a detour into Torquay to pick up some aprons for the kitchen crew. That was a bit of a godsend, as I was about four hours into the trip then, and the small break was rejuvenating.
Walking into Seacroft, home for the next few days, I fell into the arms of one person, had a glass of wine placed in one hand and the offer of a puff on a cigarette in the other.
That helped.
I've been fed beautifully (OH MY GOD - THE LAMB!!), laughed a lot, had some fantastic deep conversations, read a bit, facilitated a New Moon ritual (which was fantastic, but has given me the tag line, "Lynda, have you got the cauldron?" I have a knack for saying daft things with a complete lack of irony.
Yet the nicest thing of all has been just being me. Completely unfiltered, no masks, no nothing, still running naked into the sea at 7.30 on the Sunday morning. I've not thought about what I've been eating, although that changes as soon as I get back to Melbourne. I've had no alcohol to drink. We had a Pixies singalong this morning, myself, Kyleigh Wyleigh and a few other randoms, to the bemusement of others. There has been a lot of healing hugs. I don't feel like I've talked that much, but I've done a lot of listening.
The only time I was scared was when last night, at around eleven p.m., after most of the lights were out, somebody came into the chapel. Thy seemed to be hunting around for something. Being big and brave, I turned on the light and called out if I could help. It was just another Gunna looking for chocolate. As there was none to be found, it being all put away, I handed over my secret stash. All writer's need a secret sugar supply.
Oh, and there's a cat here. His name is Oreo and he is a tiny black and white tuxedo cat with the metaphorical balls of a giant. Friend to all, he takes no prisoners. Lovely little beastie. I held his paw as he had a bath.
And I really wish I had some nail polish remover on me as my nails are driving me nuts. It will be fine, once again, when I get home.
The thing that I take home from these retreats is the fact that I have a tribe. I love my tribe. This retreat is about we strange, funny, intelligent, honest women, most of us on the spectrum in a major or minor way, who give ourselves permission to be true selves for a couple of days.
How can you not be happy here?
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