I've had a bit of a peculiar weekend - my last post has made me feel more exposed than I thought it would. Which probably goes to prove that one doesn't ever leave these things completely behind. I shall be very pleased when B comes home tomorrow; I need a cuddle.
To all the people who have left me comments or contacted me, thank you. And thank you, Rachel, for linking to me. If what I've written has helped anyone else or triggered thought or discussion in any way at all, then that is a good thing and makes it worth the feeling of vulnerability. It is something that needs talking about, however difficult that is to do; that's one of the issues. I refuse to be ashamed about what happened to me. But talking about it is scary.
This blog is not about anything in particular, unless a person's life can be described as 'anything in particular'. It is just about whatever I feel like writing about at a particular moment - serious or funny, banal or more intense.
Today, I feel the need for a healthy dose of banality to get me back in balance.
So. I have spend the weekend largely eating.
Or should that be eating largely?
It's winter. It's cold. Polish Lodger's Girlfriend's Cousin and I are developing a mutual support group centered around chocolate. What can I say?
Betty Kitten, who will not really stay still long enough for me to get a reasonable photo of her, is also trying to join in the nice-things-to-eat exchange we have going.
So far, her offerings consist of:
- leaves - many and varied, found all around the house
- twigs - ditto
- the cloth I keep clean the toilet, which normally lives on the soil-pipe behind the cistern and which I keep finding in the hall. Or which she presents to me, triumphantly, in bed in the morning. I have tried giving her a clean one of her own, but she prefers the one that smells of faeces
- bits of carpet - pulled up from the corners of the room where the previous owners have stuck down slivers with gaffer tape to try to disguise their lack of ability with a stanley knife
- slugs. Or possibly, just A slug. I keep returning it to the yard. If, as I suspect, there is only the one that has survived the frost, it will be getting depressed by now, as it's been in at least half a dozen times
- And, finally, a medium-sized plant, wet and with the soil-covered roots still attached, which she brought to me in bed yesterday morning once I'd gaffer-taped open the cat-flap for her and gone back to bed with a cup of tea.
And to cap today's healthy banality, I am now going to watch the first three episodes of 'Airwolf', eat pizza and have a glass of wine.