Blogposts aren’t supposed to be negative but I’m finding it terribly hard to find positive things to write about these days. So I’m not sharing this post as widely as I would normally: it’s not going on Facebook or Twitter. I’m just putting it up as a diary entry, which is how the whole blog began as ‘back in the day’ as my children would say.
The joy seems to have gone out of the place or is it just the winter with its endless rain and puddles, and leaks and wind?
I struggle down here with all the stuff that I’m constantly carting backwards and forwards: the animals and their bits and pieces and the various things that I need while I’m here (which is actually very little but it all adds up). And when I get here, the first thing I find is that the south-west wall is again leaking water across its whole width after a couple of fairly extreme downpours today.
My heart sinks. I get out cloths and bowls and try to soak up what I can and catch the rest before it spreads. On goes the dehumidifier, the background noise that I live with constantly at the moment. Drip, drip, drip from around the front door. Slow seepage down the expensively repaired back of the chimney, which has begun to fail to repel the water again.
I haven’t the heart to light a fire to cheer the place up. All I can think is that it will make yet more mess that I have to clean up when I leave. I light candles instead, loads of them.
Is the clock ticking towards the end of my time here? I’m not sure. In some ways I can’t imagine life without my little bolthole or my blog. But these things aren’t me, any more than the job I left last year after more than quarter of a century was. I will find new ways to be and that will be ok too.