Impossible.

Impossible to choose between childhood memories and GG mother’s ‘what-ever’. Rain has moved me into designing the interior ‘soft stuff’ we needed in doors to turn the empty white rooms into a semblance of our old home. Impossible of course. So, yes, there are curtains and chairs but few things – we have lit the fire a few times which has warmed the cockles but even so husband feels as I do – that we are visiting and waiting to go home to 27. So the containers are resealed and it still rains and Christmas is around the corner – and my birthday – 55. Is that half way or past it? Time will tell.

110 I hope not. 2019 has been the worst year for new tech/software and machinery for me and it is not exagerating to say I am on the verge of giving up wanting to write with anything that isn’t a pen and paper even if that means my stories will never be published and I will fail in my dreams.

I am not at the point I wanted to be with the writing – or editing – by now and I no longer know if I want to continue; I must do I guess but it isn’t obvious.

My thoughts about next year started with ‘no more Bull Shit – from anyone.’ This was followed up with, ‘get off your arse while you still can…’. Home is where you make it.