I’m pretty sure Proust did most of his writing in bed.

Certainly I think that’s a great idea. Things seem to flow in bed.

I’m in bed, at 0851. I’ve been here since about 0035.

I’ve been writing for over an hour, editing “Graveyard“.

For those of you who haven’t a clue what I’m talking about, “Graveyard” is my short play, my first stage play and it’s available for performance & publication…

I’m here in a B&B in Listowel for a funeral, the funeral of my first cousin’s husband.

Last night was the closing of the coffin, the removal to the church and a bit of a family gathering in the kitchen of their house.

This morning at 1200 the funeral.

I have some hours to kill, some time to fill.

Sitting in pajamas, alone in a foreign bedroom (this is Kerry), I might as well write. There is no Broadband, so no reading matter.

(Actually that’s not true: I read an extract from “The Fir Tree and the Ivy” - winner of The Eamon Keane Full Length Play Award, Listowel 2006. Heidegger’s monologue from scene 5 is powerful writing)

I’m fiddling with “Graveyard”, tarting it up, spacing it properly, giving it the respect it deserves but hasn’t yet had from me.

So far, all I’ve done is write the work. I haven’t presented it properly: no page looks good, yet. By the time I’ve finished, every single page will be a work of art. It’ll be a vision to read. God help the players.

A laptop fits nicely over my thighs.

Also I’ve been saving “Graveyard” on a memory stick. This is the first time I’ve ever saved anything on my memory stick. Must make me a memory stick virgin-that-was.

I have plenty to think about, including the prospect of writing a new daily diary.

Why another bloody diary? I hear my friend Marcin from Poland splutter.
Because she told me to. She? Yes, she-who-must-be-obeyed…
The Cognitive Behaviour Therapist.
I went to her yesterday for first session. I’m due back to her again in three weeks with a daily diary in hand.

The reason I went to see a CBT is that I want to prepare myself to be better able to cope with the return of the depression… whenever that comes back to me.

The reason I went to her is that my doctor gave me her name ages ago and I did nothing about it while I was depressed. Now that I am not depressed, I feel I should look after my future.

I’m not convinced that seeing a CBT is a good idea.

But I think it’s a good idea to give it a try. After all I’ve tried most other things, including homeopathy and acupuncture – not to mention counselling, psychotherapy, psychoanalysis, Seroxat, Prozac, Effexor, Vallium… and others I can’t spell or name.

Why not Cognitive Behaviour Therapy? It is said to be the best form of therapy for depression.

Who says that?

How much were they paid to say that?

Who employed them to say such an influential thing?

From the vantage point of this comfortable bed, as it moves towards designated breakfast time at 0930 (the time I was offered by the man of the house), I’ll need to get the funeral clothes out of the car where they’ve been hanging all night - meaning, a cold shirt for me today.

I better go dress for the Kerry Breakfast… probably a whole sheep with a Corkman’s blood for pudding.