Sometimes I feel lucky. I know I moan about the bookshop, or rather, the customers, but really, it’s pretty cool bananas.
In my brief “About me” bit on this blog I have a list; mum, wife, writer, friend, woman, sister, daughter, bookseller, bitch. They are the describing words I came up with to sum me up. They tell a tiny bit about me, but not much beyond the roles which I have at the moment in this world. This is a writing/reading/bookish blog of sorts, and I did once have a Live Journal as well, in which I dumped the daily stuff. I have ditched the LJ, and carried on with this. I like the fact that the day to day of my life has no place here. Only sometimes there is nothing but the day to day in my week, and so there’s nothing to say. It seems futile to mention that this week I have read nothing, written nothing, achieved nothing. But that’s a version of the truth.
The other version is this; illness, pain, sadness, behavioural difficulties, need, cleaning, washing, emailing, phoning, attempting to soothe and ease and assist and nurture and help, eating, drinking, sleeping, wiping, hoping, loving, talking, hugging, kissing, holding, nurturing, crying.
I am exhausted, and I have a headache and I really must clean the bathroom and Dyson because I’ve got work tomorrow, and I’ve got forms to fill out and paperwork to do, and all the niggly stuff that crowds my mind. But whilst I do those things, in my head I shall be working on a story idea I have, about a woman who is not me, a woman who is nowhere near as lucky as me. And next week I may just get the space to write it.