Rocking to the end

The bottom has been reached.

Always that little bit closer than you'd like to imagine it could ever be but, nevertheless, there it is, patiently waiting for you to touch down.

It embraces you warmly, holds you tightly, welcoming as an old, if unwelcome friend.

We will spend some time together, him and me. Then I will reach up to the light and climb the stairs away from his company. For a while.

The bottom is less rocky than you imagine. It's just getting here that's so painful.

Rollercoaster

Up, down, around, spin, turn.  I feel sick.  I want to cry.  I should be the happiest a girl can ever be.  Instead another huge roadblock is thrown up in front and I'm left floating and flapping waiting for something to happen.


It will probably mean a huge hit on my finances, more delays and a total lack of ability to make any decisions other than when I can cry and not make a total fool of myself.


Who'd move house, hey?

Just when it was safe to go back in the water

There are days when it's all so utterly pointless.

And says when you have the bit between your teeth and god help anyone in your way.

Which was yours?

Today

It's all end of the weekend-ish. Sad, fighting, wishing tomorrow wasn't just another day.

Another day, another mortgage

Ding ding, seconds out, round whatever the hell it is we're up to now.

The question of whether we're doing the right thing seems to have become moot.

We're doing this thing and to hell with the consequences, perhaps?

I'm doing this. The kids are doing this. At least three of us are apparently looking forward to it.

And now the house has seemingly become houses. The first one is now tantalisingly within reach but remains imperfect. The 2nd is moving forwards but, is it 'the one'?

Does it even matter?

The wheels continue to turn and we shall move onwards and see where we end up.

Slipping through my fingers

It's quite possibly just some melodramatic responses to a tough situation. If he chooses me and they leave, it'll always be my fault. Whatever his protestations, his declarations that he's not being held to ransom, underneath it all, it will be my fault. If they stay and he chooses them, well, that'll be a fine life for us all. I'm trying to resign myself to this new life being for three and not the six we'd been planning. That way, when I'm disappointed it'll just be a minor blip instead of my guts being ripped out. And if I'M, wrong, well it'll be a nice surprise and I won't end up with my entrails on display for all to see. Who said the course of love never runs smooth? They should be slapped for understatement. This almost constant feeling of nausea is, at least, helping me lose weight for the wedding that may never go ahead. Lucky me.

The good old days

If I was living a couple of hundred years ago, I could stand and look out of windows onto meadows of corn being moved by the wind.

I could look melancholy and no one would think me bad for it; they would probably just consider that I was an artist or a writer, someone with a tortured soul or an evil step-mother.

On the other hand, they may consider me a witch and burn me at the stake perhaps?

Do you have a plan? A vague notion at least of where your life is heading?

I had a plan; a draft outline with accompanying maps, arrows and a compass at the ready.

But it was not to be.

My map is in shreds, my plan in tatters and my life has rewound 4 or 5 years to where I was before, just older and quite possibly less wise than I was then.

The best laid plans of mice and me are a moveable feast it would seem; I wish I could keep up.