Kitty Chat

What a GLORIOUS Day!

Come on everyone, go outside, even if for a couple of minutes. Take a deep breath of the fresh Spring air. Let it fill your lungs and your life with newness. Breath out the negativity, breath in some positive energy.

YOU are the architect of your life. YOU are the Captain of your ship. YOU decide your course in this life.

Don't like whats going on? CHANGE IT!

START NOW.... and tomorrow, when you awake, you will be a bit further along your new path...

It is NEVER to late to change, it is never to late to make a fresh start. It is YOUR life. So, who is in control of it, really? YOU ARE! (Unless, of course, you allow someone else to control it, if you do, don't bitch at how bad it is...)

The dark days are past! We are all alive!

Get outside, be happy!!!

What a busy Wednesday!

I woke up with a killer sinus headache so instead of doing something sensible, like taking paracetamol and having a hot shower, I lay in bed and felt sorry for myself until just before 11 am. Then, realization dawned. Yipes! Restos du Coeur, the boys, Sally and Richard... who would show up first?

So, just as I hauled my lazy bottie out of bed, the doorbell rang. Thank God, Sally and Richard first. Sal set about splitting up the canvases and frames we are buying from Izak, Richard brought in the spare cooker they are giving me (yeah! a functioning oven, finally!! I can bake again!) while I did a quick run through the shower.

Just finished getting dressed when doorbell again. Restos with the final food parcels, ok, start sorting that when, doorbell again. Madame Mattecat and her stageraire from Assistance Sociale. OK. Shuttle boxes of food and chat to them at the same time. I am having a problem with my landlord, Bretagne Sud Habitat. They own the HLM or Habitation Lodgement Moderation, low-income housing. When CAF decided I was eligible for assistance in paying my rent (lone parent with two small children, no income, no help financially from the girl's father) they gave the equivalent of six months rent money to my landlord. Problem was, I had already paid three months. I explained the situation to the guy at BSH and he sneered at me, "We'll just leave the remainder in our account, to assure we get the difference in rent between CAF and what you pay." Excuse me, thats nearly 1000€, I need that money to go on my overdraft. "You are not eligible for the money, it will go back to the State..." I swear, he grinned at me when he said that....

I wonder if he likes to put earthworms on the fire and watch them squirm as well...

Anyway, Madame Mattecat assured me the money would arrive in my account sometime after the 20th of April... something else to explain to my bank manager.

The lovely lady from Restos du Coeur was fussing about with boxes, almost like she was waiting for the people from Assistance Sociale to leave. I was in my kitchen organising what I had recieved when I heard her at the door. With a big smile on her face she brought in the fourth and last box. She always brings me a few luxury items and this week, the last week of receiving food parcels is no exception. Six 500g punnets of strawberries, two 250g punnets of raspberries, some fresh maché, raddiciole, fresh baby spinach and a 500g parcel of white asparagus! Wow! I thank her profusely, I know she slips these things in for us as she always points them out and winks at me and the girls go wild when they see all the fresh fruits.

Sally finishes and she and Richard sit down with me for a quick coffee before shooting off back to Hir Gars.

Just get the girls some lunch and the boys arrive. Good. They can all piss off outside while I try to get this house in order. Fat chance. They are all in and out like bewildered cats. I decide to give up on cleaning my house this week and finally take some Paracetamol. Figure I should at least clean the fridge when the doorbell goes again. Cool. It's Ruby and her two girls. Great, they can go play with other kids and it gives me a chance to make another pot of coffee and sit down to have a good natter.

Ruby is opening Les Epices, a spice shop, here in Cléguérec. The shop is going in just scross the street from the top of our drive so it is, literally, a two minute walk door to door. She and her husband have bought the old Auto Ecole and the ruin next door. The ruin would make a lovely little café. I am SO tempted to see if they would rent it to me. I guess I will have to see what happens in the next few weeks with the house in England. I can't take on any more debt until I get rid of what I have.

BUT. I keep thinking. That place in Guémené, that litle café I was at last week. It is just a hob, stove and a domestic dishwasher in a front room and she does a thriving business. Couldn't believe it, actually. Where's Public Health? That stuff would never fly in California, not even the UK. I mean even Rebeccas in North Park was more sophisticated than that... and that was as Mom and Pop as they come. So, is this sorta thing OK by EU norms? I will have to research it because if I could get away with a café based on an upgraded version of what she has, I could be in business as soon as my divorce is final.

Baggsies on a café in Cléguérec!!!!!

Oh yeah, my flippin' internet isn't working at home again. Thank God for Cyber-Box in Pontivy...

...and down the other side.

This isn't always such a bad thing.

Like my illness. I feel I am over the worst. It started with getting a chill walking home last Monday, progressed to a full-blown cold, touched on tummy upset (lets be PC about that) then 'flu-ish - but not, ending with bronchitis. So I am simply left with the final vestiges, which for me manifests as 'The Cough'. All my illnesses tend to end with 'The Cough'. A 60-Capstan-Full-Strength-Unfiltered-a-Day Cough. Since I am a Militant Non-Smoker, I suppose I can reflect that it is Poetic Justice, especially as I live here in France, home of the Gauloise.

I used to smoke cigarettes. Marlboro light 100s or Sherman's Rainbow Selection when I was working in theatre, darling, and considered myself chic and frightfully fashionable. Heh, I was young, single, a thin size 8, wicked fit... and still never had a date. (Note to young self: When one hangs around with gay men 24/7, one narrows ones chances of a straight date.) Cigarettes were great for when you were starving but knew a sandwich or salad or rice cake, even, had calories. Calories were bad. Calories can make you fat. Fat is bad. Fat people don't tend to get employed in Southern California Theatre, even as people who were not 'on stage', the Wig Masters, Dressers, Seamstresses. It's all about 'Body Identity' or at least it was in the late 70s early 80s. But, smoke didn't make you fat. Smoke had no calories. So, I smoked. Wheezed like a rusty garden gate swinging open and shut every morning, but, by gum, I was thin!

It is scary to me now, how obsessed I was with staying under 8 stone 5 pounds. I never took diet pills, they scared me, as did cocaine and amphetamines. I was addicted to exercise. Running in the surf at Ocean Beach at dawn, skipping lunch to go race-walking with two of the 'rep' actresses, 1000 sit-ups every day and at least three Aikido classes a week. And still I smoked. No explanation, I know it was stupid, now. At the time, the exercise gave me a structure upon which to hang my life. The smoking was a means to an end. Besides, I was addicted, that was my excuse.

However, it no longer has any draw or relevance to me now.

When I decided to quit, New Years Eve 1996, I knew I would wake up in the morning as a 'non-smoker'. I had made up my mind to quit. So I handed my partial pack of cigarettes to my then-fiancé and said, 'Here, I am now a non-smoker so I don't need these, you can have them...'

"Yeah, right, lets see how long this lasts...", was his immediate reply.

Ahhh.... See, you never did know me very well, my dear.

I am what my Grandmother Dora called contrary. "Ruth, never in all my days did I ever meet such a contrary child as your eldest." My Mother would invariably reply, "Now Dora, I prefer the term tenacious..." My Mother would smile grimly at her Mother-in-Law, my Grandmother would stiffen slightly and turn away, then stalk off to go run her gloved fingers across some clean surface, tsking at my Mother's obvious slovenliness. (I was interested, even at that tender age, in the family politics, the subtle undercurrent that went on just beneath the surface, among the adults.)

So being contrary, or pig-headed, or tenacious, even, I have always hated when people tell me I can't do something. Without a good reason why. 'Because it's never been done', or 'Because I said so, that's why' or 'Because you can't/won't/aren't capable.' Unless I can see it's a deliberate set-up, a reverse psychology trick, it rather makes me want to prove them wrong. I think most people are like this. It's how the light-bulb became frosted on the inside, after all.

So little contrary me is going on 8 years 4 months as a non-smoker.

Sometimes it is good to be told no.

Why? I keep getting asked why.... I'll let Sting answer this one....

Well it's five in the morning and the light's already broken
And the rainy streets are empty for nobody else has woken
Yet you turn towards the window as he sleeps beneath the covers
And you wonder what he's dreaming in his slumbers

There's a clock upon the table and it's burning up the hour
And you feel your life is shrinking like the petals of a flower
As you creep towards the closet you're so careful not to wake him
And you choose the cotton dress you bought last summer

There's a time of indecision between the bedroom and the door
But the part of you that knows that you can't take it any more
There's the promise of the future in the creaking of the floor
And you're torn if you should leave him with a number

And in your imagination you're a thousand miles away
Because too many of his promises got broken on the way
So you write it in a letter all the things you couldn't say
And you tell him that you're never coming home

She starts running for the railway station praying that her calculation's right
And there's a train just waiting there to get her to the city before night
A place to sleep a place to stay will get her through another day
She'll take a job she'll find a friend she'll make a life that's better

The passengers ignore her just a girl with an umbrella
And there's nothing they can do for her, there's nothing they can tell her
There's nothing they could ever say would change the way she feels today
She'll live the life she'd always dreamed if he had only let her

Now in her imagination she's a million miles away
When too many of his promises got broken on the way
So she wrote it in a letter all the things she couldn't say
And she told him she was never coming home
She told him she was never coming home

I wake up in an empty bed a road drill hammers in my head
I call her name there's no reply it's not like her to let me lie
It's time for work it's time to go but something's different I don't know
I need a cup of coffee I'll feel better

I stumble to the bathroom door, her make up bag is on the floor
It really is a mess this place it takes some time to shave my face
I'm not really thinking straight she never lets me sleep this late
I'm almost done and then I see the letter

In his imagination she's a universe away
Too many of his promises got broken on the way
So she wrote it in a letter all the things she couldn't say
And she told him she was never coming home,
She told him she was never coming home,
She told him she was never coming home

I'm gonna live my life, gonna live my life
And she told him she was never coming home
I'm gonna live my life, gonna live my life
In my own way

Sting from the album Sacred Love : Never Coming Home

Probably going to stay away from the computer until after the weekend... see you all on Tuesday. I gotta get well...

Happy Easter!

My brain feels like porridge...

Having a cold and leçons Français Intermediare... don't mix.

I managed to force down a piece of camembert cheese and some tuna mayonnaise during. First food since Tuesday lunchtime as I have lost my appetite and feel quite bilious and nauseous. I'd say like morning sickness when pregnant, except that would mean the Second Coming and I have a strong suspicion that I am not the ideal handmaiden... I was doing fine with the Compliment Object Direct. I went over this last year at Mid-Cheshire College so its a good review. The difference is this class is half Russian and the rest Anglais( with myself and one other lady as the token Americans.) Then..... Blimey. Compliment Object Indirect... I used to know this really well....

My cold is doing its swift progression from the chill I received on Monday night walking home in the light rain, aggrevated by sitting around waiting for the flippin' bus in Guémené, full-blown 'I can't move from the sofa on Wednesday afternoon' to today, Thursday's chesty cough and wheezing. So feeling crap today, really. Then add ex-husband phoning me halfway through French Class to yell at me, as a result my blood pressure went through the roof, which lead to me having to take my angina medicine as a result as the pain in my chest was unbearable... it hasn't really been one of my best Thursdays. Certainly not as good as last week.

I am exhausted, mentally and physically. I can't think about anything properly. Especially Intermediate French. I feel like I am just about to cross the finish line and then a stiff breeze blows me back. I am trying to keep all the plates spinning, all the balls in the air and I am honestly dancing as fast as I can. That's obviously not enough for some....

Why is it all my fault? I had nothing to do with the hole in the ozone layer, plate teutonics, radon, the Sandinistas, Bush getting re-elected, Le Pen's policies, the European Constitution, the McCarthy era. I had nothing to do with Kennedy, Lennon or the Pope getting shot. I certainly had nothing to do with a decision to drop out of High School to go work on a farm. Or the decision never to try learning a foreign language until later in life. (I refuse to write 'until an adult' as that would be a complete misnomer.) Give me a break. Forgo the Kit-Kat, though.

This cold has turned into something resembling bronchitis. After so many years as a Bronchial Asthmatic, I know that illness so well. We are good friends. I can tell just when it starts progressing to Pneumonia... thats when I go to the doctor. Just have to wait it out... and hope my Carte Vitale and Mutualle comes in the post soon.

MOM!!! MOM!!!! ....huh?

MOMMMMMMY!!!!!

Oh bloody hell, girl, it's 3 am, don't wake your sister... I stumble from bed, sliding feet into my slippers and pad next door. The little one is uncovered, she kicks her bedclothes off a lot as she is a 'hot child', not like her older sister who is 'cool' and sleeps wrapped up in her duvet. My son is cool as well and like his sister, can't be woken for trying during the night.

But my youngest is hot and wakes, on average three or four times each night. 'Cover me, Mummy' she pleads. OK, sweetie... 'I'm thirsty'... 'OK, Mummy will find your bottle of water, hold on.' As I stand up from kissing her on the cheek I realise I have a massive headache. Oh man, locate her sports bottle in the living room, refill it with cold tap water in the kitchen, decide to take two paracetamol while I am up and pad back down the hall. 'Here you go, baby, now straight to sleep, the boys will be here in five hours.' 'How long do I get to sleep?'... 'Five hours, honey, I will wake you when the boys get here.'

Get back to my bed, snuggle down into the centre of the big, double bed, finding the little warm nest I left minutes earlier. Then just as I spinning a nice, comfy dream for myself... the door to my room opens... 'I can't sleep Mummy...' Hmmmmm... Funny enough, neither can I. 'Tuck me in, I'm having bad dreams...' 'Right, back to bed... come on.' (This is where tag-team parenting always came in useful, well, at least the second time around.) 'What are you having bad dreams of honey?' 'Crabs and lobsters.' Exotic dreams, my children, but I know this is from going into E. Le Clerc and seeing the seafood laid out on display on the mounds of crushed ice and the tanks of live crabs and lobsters with their weird spindly appendages and eyes on stalks...staring.

'Here, you cuddle pink bunny, she will scare the crabs and lobsters. They are scared of bunnies, you know.' I kiss her cheek, she clutches pink bunny, rolls over on her side, eyes tightly shut, one thumb in mouth, other hand curled around her nose - 'the sleeping position.' Well, that will be her asleep for another few hours at least. I tuck the top of the sheet over the duvet and that goes under her chin. Children like routine, and this is hers. 'Goodnight, sleep tight, I'll wake you when the boys are here'... but she is already fast asleep.

I am a 'hot child' as well and, having been woken twice now, I can't go back to sleep. This is where a laptop comes in handy, I can take it back to bed with me. So I make a chair out of the pillows and prop myself up against the high wooden headboard and cruise the 'net. Not a lot happening at 3.30 in the morning. No e-mails. Nothing of any real interest on any of the Forums I frequent. There is one interesting thread discussing the existence of an 'afterlife' but I can't even work up the enthusiasm to post. I need to write a reply down in Notepad sometime, then post as I have something to add... but feel dreadful right now.

I have the beginning of a cold. Headache, sore throat and neck, overall achy feeling, that yucky taste at the back of your throat, gravelly voice, slight sweaty fever. I feel sorry for myself for two minutes then decide to go Google Hair Loss Women.

Yes, hair loss. I have it. A combination, perhaps, of the stress from the last nine months coupled with my heart medication. Whatever it is, it is really noticeable, at least, to me.

Well, that done, I now have a list of things to buy when I get some money.
Vanity, thy name is woman...

And it's tabula raza...

Right... 4.30... lets see if I can get back to sleep again.

******************************************************

After Restos du Coeur delivered (this is the penultimate week,) the boys left and the girls had lunch, I spent the day on the couch, huddled under my feather-down quilt. I feel absolutely dire. The girls were really good and let me sleep, playing quietly in their room, occasionally coming in to 'check on me'... my youngest tucking the duvet under my chin and kissing me on the cheek... awww...

I start French tomorrow in Pontivy. I will ride in with Séverine, then have to 'waste' five hours walking around until it is time to go home at 5pm. I wish I felt better, it would be a great opportunity to get some exercise, but all I really want to do is stay in bed.

Sometimes, for me at least, e-mails can be the worst thing ever invented. You just cannot get across the nuances of phrasing that you can face to face or on the phone. I sent an e-mail yesterday to a friend, and even though it seemed fine when I wrote it (I was trying to stay friendly but business-like, brief but explanatory) tonight, re-reading it, the e-mail seems full of negativity and bitchiness, like I am saying to them I am 'Spring Cleaning' them from my life... thats not what I meant! NOTHING could be further from the truth.

So now I am stressed, feel guilty and worried that I am driving further wedges in between us when all I want is to build bridges. I want to share my happiness, my better outlook, to say, "LOOK! The old happy, non-flipped out me is back!"

I am not receiving feedback so I think the worst. And then react unstead of just trusting them. They then react by withdrawing more. So I pry and they don't respond -blah, blah- and so it goes... And thats just a vicious cycle. One I was in for a couple of months and couldn't see what I was doing because of the state of panic I was in. I didn't listen to what was being said to me. I possibly smothered a flame that had been growing and burning. Burning for me.

I hate myself for that. What the fuck can I do?

It's not fair. I want the whole bloody world to go away for a bit. I want things to be still, quiet, peaceful. Then, I want a second chance. I'm not evil... I think I deserve a second chance...

However... all I can do is keep saying sorry until they finally forgive me for being an idiot and arse... IF they ever forgive me... But, they just might never forgive me...

I just can't face that black hole of a thought. I know, I'll commit it to Tara, "I'll think of it another day," like a chubby Scarlett O'Hara... then go cry myself to sleep.

Perfect mood to go with my cold.

Today is the day I go to the Accueil Emploi in Guémené-sur-Scorff to 'create' my French Curriculum Vitae. My appointment is at 13.30 but the bus drops me off at 11.30, no matter, I like the town and spend some time wandering about, wave at the fishmonger who visits Cléguérec on Saturdays and generally look in the various shop windows. I poke about the new Indian Restaurant, peeking through the sari-type net curtains. This is the place that is rumoured to be opening Easter Week-end... if they are, they better get a move on.

End up at La Girelle, a little English-tea room across from the Médiamatique and Bibliothèque... Hmmmm.... I see computers amongst the books, must remember to come back after the CV event. I sit down in the tea-room for a very delicious and non-Atkins sandwich. Brie and mango chutney on baguette with cos lettuce. Thats my carbs then for the next five days...

Have a delightful conversation with a lady named Pam and then another family who had just this morning signed their compromise du vente and were celebrating with bacon sarnies and pots of tea... as you do.

OK.. its now 13.20, so pay for the sarnie (a reasonable 2.90€) and climb the outside stairs over the bibliothèque. From my high vantage on the balcony, I wave at the bus driver as he lumbers past... and wait. 13.30 comes and goes... 13.45... now the clock above me chimes 14.00.. 2pm.. no one has shown.

I am being stood up by the Job Centre?

I go downstairs to the Library which has just opened after lunch. No, Madame, we don't have anything to do with the Accueil Emploi, thats ANPE in Pontivy. No, there have been no calls. Désolé.

Grrrr. But my mood brightens considerably when I learn there is free internet access.

Madame Owens? Oui, c'est moi. The ANPE is calling, they have tried to contact you but there was no reply, to explain there would be no one here for you.

There is another woman who has also arrived for the CV Day. She and I look at each other and, as if on cue, we both pull our mobile phones from our pockets.

Well, mine didn't ring, did yours? she asks me.

No calls received here. I reply

Lying bastards...

If I was in California, I bet I could get a greeting card with 'Happy Vernal Equinox!' emblazoned across the front of it. In fact, there would probably be a choice of styles as well. The Romantic Vernal Equinox card (As the days grow long, so does my love for you...) The Funny Vernal Equinox card (Lets Spring for Joy today!)... oh I could go on, but will desist.

Today is the First Day of Spring. A time for new thinking, new beginnings. Today is the Vernal Equinox the counterpoint to the Autumnal Equinox, which is my son's birthday, 23 September.

At the Vernal (or Spring) Equinox the sun rises exactly in the east, travels through the sky for 12 hours and then sets exactly in the west. So all over the world, at this special moment, day and night are of equal length hence the word equinox which comes from the Latin and means 'equal night'. Here in the Northern Hemisphere, we experience the beginning of Spring, in the Southern, they experience the beginning of Autumn.

We are heading toward the Summer Solstice 21 June, the start of summer. Solstice means literally, 'Sun Stands Still' or 'Standing Still Sun' in Latin and is the longest day of the year. If you go far enough North you can experience the Gloaming where the sun makes a circle in the sky, but never sets. This is something I wish to do... one day.

Heh, but thats three months away! Lets enjoy the fact that winter is past, the doom-sayers only got it partially right (it rained this morning but there is bright sunshine now!) and we can all take stock and begin Spring Cleaning: of our house, our lives and our relationships.

Better take advantage of the sun and get some clothes on the line! Boy, it's GREAT to have my own washing machine!!

It is bright sunshine in clear blue Breton skies here and it promises to be a glorious day!

Its 11.30 and it's already 22°C (that's 70°F in old money)

Just had to go outside and pluck the youngest from the tree again. She was on a branch, half-way up and couldn't get to another branch to get down. So she was sitting there like a bewildered kitten, mewing, "Mum!... Mummy.... Mummmy... .........MOMMMMMY!"
I know it's serious when the American phrasing kicks in...

I'm making Arroz con Pollo for lunch. Chicken with Rice, Mexican-style. My girls love it, although my eldest did remark, last time I served it, "Mum, you really ought to serve octopus more often..."

Octopus?

I am in such a good frame of mind today. It's like going through a door and being on the other side. I feel like Dorothy in the movie 'The Wizard of Oz' walking through the front door of her Kansas farmhouse and stepping into the Land of Oz. Everything was technocolour-bright and alive... (except for the Wicked Witch of the East, of course, who has just had the farmhouse dropped on her....) This light and happy sensation is how I am feeling now that Spring is here, my financial situation is worked out, I am on friendly terms with everyone I am in contact with and I feel my work situation and language difficulties will be resolved satisfactorily. I am entering a new phase of my life.

I feel that I really haven't been myself for wow, certainly since July, when I first moved here. It was incredibly hard on me. I had left my husband under difficult circumstances, I was stuck in a caravan, alone with my girls and no real transport other than taxis or friends who went more than out of their way to ferry me about. (I feel really guilty about that still, that I must have made them feel obligated to help me. That I was so pushy, so demanding, I still feel bitter shame about having been this way, I was such a bitch during that period of my life... and sadly....an apology will never right what harm was done. I can only pray that time will heal that rift... that wound...)

Then to top it off, my dog died... and I had my heart attack... and things went downhill from there.

But thats yesterday's pizza. RIGHT???

12.30 now... temperature a lovely 28°C and 82°F... how dare those doomsayers report rain tomorrow! I laugh in the face of their predictions! Hahahahaha! Yummmm... the chicken smells delicious. I'll come back after lunch and post the recipe!

Here is the Arroz con Pollo recipe I use. I have slightly adapted Sarah Jay's recipe taken from Fine Cooking Magazine Issue 37, p. 82

Serves four, with leftovers.

2 Tbs. olive oil; more as needed

1-1/2 lb. chicken parts, (I use thighs) patted dry and liberally seasoned with coarse salt and freshly ground black pepper

1/2 to 1 lb. good meaty sausage, cut in 2-inch pieces (Try sweet or hot Italian, Toulouse or even ground sausage meat, formed into balls)

1 small onion, chopped

1 medium green or red bell pepper, cut in 1/2-inch dice

4 cloves garlic, minced

1 tsp. ground cumin

1/4 tsp. paprika

1/4 tsp. chili powder

1/2 tsp. ground turmeric (optional)

1/2 cup peeled, crushed tomatoes (I use canned) or use salsa

1/2 cup dry white wine or beer (optional)

1 bay leaf

2 cups rice (I use Basmati)

2-1/4 cups water

In a deep, heavy-based pot (such as a Dutch oven), heat the oil on medium high. Sauté the chicken, in batches if necessary, until golden on all sides, 7 to 10 min. Transfer the chicken to a platter. Sauté the sausage until browned, about 3 min. Transfer the sausage to the platter.

Add the rice and sauté in the remaining oil until it begins to turn white.

Reduce the heat to medium and add the onion, pepper, and garlic until softened, about 5 min. Return the chicken and sausage to the pot and add the cumin, paprika, chili powder, and turmeric, if using, stirring to distribute the spices. Cook for 1 min. and then add the tomatoes or salsa, wine (or beer) if using, and bay leaf. Increase the heat to medium high, stir, and cook for 2 min. Add the water and bring to a boil, cover, and reduce the heat to a low simmer. Cook until the rice is done and the liquid is absorbed, about 25 min. (If the rice is done but still very soupy, remove the cover and cook very gently until the liquid evaporates, taking care not to burn the rice.) Give a toss and then let sit for 5 min. before serving.

Its a beautiful day! Its gotten up above 20°C, I actually have laundry hanging out and its drying in the fresh, warm breeze. The big window in my front room is open and I can hear the birdsong drifting in. Oh! Spring! I am ready for you! I am ready to throw off the heavy cloak of winter with it's long, dark nights and oppressive, dark thoughts.

I can say, in many ways, these last months, from mid-October to last week, have been the worst five months of my life. However, that time period is now firmly in my past. I can look forward, into this new period of my life, remembering the lessons I have learnt and striving to not repeat what I have been through. Old tapes, as they say. I really need to burn them out of my conscience, they are only holding me back.

Enough for now, I have a day to finish enjoying!