Well, I can't explain how I let quite so much time go by since my last confession.
Why, WFI's Olive was just a newborn then, and now she's like probably having roast chicken for her dinner. I don't know. Things kept happening. These things were at a degree of separation from me, and I am not courting hugs, honestly. (Although who needs a reason? HUG!). My good friends' mother, a dear friend herself, had a heart attack and spend some weeks in hospital nearly but just avoiding going into the downward spiral that we so dread - (it reminded me horribly of KDiddy, the JB's dad, and that horrendous catalogue of disasters). Then the same friends' very close friend died after a long and painful battle with ovarian cancer. Only in her mid-forties. Words fail me. And of course, our lovely May has told her story better than I could ever. So unfair. Again, I am speechless.
With all the things happening, there was no time - no, there would have been the time - it was not possible to process and describe all the things, not while the things were still happening. (As you can see, I am extra-articulate today.) It seemed like all I could do was keep my head down and hope for brighter days. One minute it would all seem too sad and pointless. It seemed as though we were being diminished by all this arbitrary meanness of the world. I was a fool for expecting happiness in this world. Adoption! As if. I'd probably drop the kid or she'd burn down the house. I'd drop her and she'd burn the house down. She'd burn down the house because I dropped her. The next my heart would be brimming with the beauty of life. I spent ages one day, in perfect contentment, making a bee hotel (Bees have nowhere to stay over winter? They spend their whole time looking for a home? Make haste, to construction!)
At other moments, I'd be inspired to take photos like this:
Because it's a symbol of ..something, apparently.
Then - don't we read to know we are not alone? please write it on my tombstone - reading the delightfully honest Swistle, I couldn't help but recognise her symptoms. She is all teary/cranky/teary/cranky too, poor woman. And Julia. Julia has also spoken of the migraines, and anxiety, which seem to be connected to the perimenopause. There, I wrote it.
That. There will be further moaning about this of the first, second and third orders, I fear. But today is a good day, and heaven knows I have learned to take them when they are there. The Summer of No Socks ended a few weeks ago but has revived albeit briefly this weekend. I love September, I love my work, I am meeting a great friend for lunch and I am well.
And I am going to Madrid tomorrow to visit my old flatmate of yesteryear, now co-founder with me of our little company*.
See you after, all. Mind yourselves, mind.
(*I don't mean to be all Third Secret of Fatima about this - it's just best not to splash it all over this blog, what with all the googling that goes on. Do email me if you'd like to see. Thank you so much for your support in the other place, dear friends of the other place. I appreciate it so much - it is not easy to make it work, but we are trying. The first million is the hardest, they tell me.)