Not dead . . . just taking time out


No, I’m not dead . . . just taking time out to smell the roses, consider this and that, and generally make up my mind on my next steps.

I’m pretty sure that the ‘writing’ has reached an end. This is not down to my lack of interest in it or to the lack of ideas whizzing around in my head but more to the fact that my health issues won’t allow it. Any amount of excessive scrolling – as in editing etc – totally upsets my head and vision. This, to my detriment, I have learnt. Also, the medication that I’m taking in an attempt to keep these debilitating retinal migraines away leaves me brain-dead and I can sit for minutes . . . and minutes . . .  trying to figure out how to spell a certain word. Usually something massively complicated like, ‘more’ or ‘need.’

I have long learnt that you can’t fight the inevitable and that often that ‘inevitable’ is steering you away into other directions. So, I will never say never, but for now, and for the foreseeable future, the writer in me has retired.

Having said this I do have other ‘irons in the fire.’

We are now looking at moving to Lincolnshire. This is a very new W.I.P and may or may not happen, so for now I’ll shut up about it, other than to say if anyone has a lovely little detached property in south Lincs, stuck in the middle of a field, please let me know. It has to be detached because as I said to Richard the other day ‘I’m sick of yelling at you and the neighbours hearing every word.’ My quest in life is to berate him in private.

Also, after my toe~dipping~into~the~water episodes with the craft fairs, I’ve decided to do more. Not with the books but with ‘pretty’ little bits and bobs – painted hearts and plaques etc. It occupies my mind, keeps me off Richard’s case, and fills that creativity spot in my being that not writing leaves void. I have seven fairs booked so far. It may all end in tears and an attic full of crap but hey-ho there you go.

Dear Richard is going for a job interview tomorrow!!!! I should at this point begin my own Mexican wave or high-five Chea, but frankly I’ll miss him when he is back in the workplace. I can’t remember what it’s like to plug-in the vac and the lack of washing up liquid on my hands has left them as smooth as silk –  well, OK, maybe not as smooth as silk because I’m always scratching around in the garden.

So, directions change. Things move on. This is me now. Tomorrow I could be something else. But as I said to Richard, ‘I think we still have one or two adventures left in us.’

The moving thing is massively emotional. My garden is perfect (don’t mean to sound big-headed) and we have twenty-five years of little passed-on souls buried out there. The house is as we want it and we have a bit of money in the bank. We are comfortable. But, like the writer I am (was) I imagine other scenarios. And besides, ‘comfortable’ is overrated if you ask me?

We will see. I tend to trust in the heavens.

For now I’ll paint my little hearts and do-dahs and drop into crafty mode. Tomorrow, as I say, could be a whole new ball game.

Sending lots of love to you all.