In bed with the wool blanket over the covers, the old covers from bottom of washing basket over the wool blanket, with my toes shivering. I've always had cold toes. The room is painted in lampglow and the rain is falling against the skylight. The rain falls and my toes shiver.
At Mike and Emerald's for curry and crumble this evening, joking literary jokes and spooning custard. Their stairs have fallen in. That house is sinking, ghastly terrace falling into itself. But they are happy, and loving, and that makes up for wonky walls and cheap wood laminate.
Meant to sleep hours ago, on the open tomorrow, but stayed up staring into the internet's abyss in a holding pattern with old dreary depression since 10pm, feeling glum and unlovable and alone. And it's the Big Day tomorrow - the end of my year of daily blogging, the completion of my challenge, and instead of riding in triumphant I'm limping to the line and tumbling over it, burned out and blank and lost for words.
But completion is completion, and don't let those negative voices say any different. May not feel proud right now but I should be.
Anyway, leave that for tomorrow. Sleep now. Rain a sporadic patter now. Toes: still cold.
No comments:
Post a Comment