A Dose of the Dreaded 'Dear Diary'
A Dose of the Dreaded 'Dear Diary'
Week Thirteen of 2024
Dear Diary,
It is dark again, as I am sat on this breakfast bar stool, with Japanese chill music sounding in my ears, writing to you. The dogs have been out and, already, they are eager to eat but they have another ninety minutes to go. Unlucky.
The clocks have sprung, and we are in a desperate need of spring. For the love of God, let it be sunny for more than one hour a day in the next few months.
While walking on Saturday morning, I realised (The realisation has made itself obvious to me before…) that I belong in a place where rain is not king. Rain makes me depressed (Is this too strong a word? A medical term I should not be using, not in the way we throw it around without thinking about its implications!). It sinks my mood to the depths of the ocean and locks it in place at the bottom of the its bed (…without any of the curious and beautiful creatures). The sun, on the other hand and without exception, lifts my spirits. Its lovely rays kiss the skin on my face, caress and stroke. Indulge.
I will not even pretend for your sake, Dear Diary. I have had a few crappy (I have edited the word which I originally used. Why is swearing in front of you such a big deal?) weeks, but the past seven days might have just topped the chart of crappiness.
What I will do for your sake is keep this entry short and sweet. You are welcome.
The Week’s Round-Up
I did a round trip to London on Thursday and concluded that the weather in the UK was demented. I left home in almost stormy conditions – heavy rain, howling wind, cold air – to be met by sun in London. In the late afternoon, I left London, and within five minutes, I was back in the eye of a storm to then be met by a rainbow at home. My garden could clearly evidence the downpours we had had throughout the day…).
I worked on Good Friday and will work again on Easter Monday. Bank Holiday or not, I am not meant to be working on Fridays, courtesy of the Flexible Working Policy, but it is what it is.
The weekend was another blink. It was spent cleaning and tidying up the house; washing, hanging and folding clothes; sorting out the garden; a spot of reading because I am trying to achieve my reading goal for this year after the complete failure that was 2023, and course work.
I will face Monday absolutely knackered. Yay! I cannot wait for another thirty, maybe thirty-five, years of that life ahead of me.
The Little Things
A chat with someone whom I now consider a friend. She is from Writing Group in which I have known her since the beginning of January. The library, where we normally gather to write, was closed on Friday due to the Bank Holiday. However, we were both looking forward to some writing – I had to skip last week’s meet up – and she kindly invited me to hers. But, try as we did, no writing was done. And that is ok…Plenty of talking was done instead.
A sunny spell on Saturday morning and, as a result, a brisk walk around town (even if I did not see any second-hand books which I liked!).
