As you may have picked up, I’m struggling with life a little at the moment. There are no major new issues; just a lengthening period of minor annoyments.
I miss little Flora terribly. Some people who I love very dearly are having a tough time. I realised that I set off on the wrong track with my new novel. (This not the end of the world. In fact it’s part of the process: it’s happened with every book that I’ve written. It’s as though I need to go the wrong way to figure out what the right way is. I know this, but still I am attached to the 10,000 wrong-direction words and not far enough along with my thinking on the new direction to feel comfortable.) I’m not sleeping well, plagued by wakefulness or lousy, unhappy dreams. Another crappy review of Bah! popped up on Amazon this week and although I know, in my head, that if you don’t get bad reviews you’re not reaching enough people, in my heart I get a little crushed. I left the cable for my laptop in Manchester which means that all the stuff I usually do on my laptop is either waiting or being done in a way that’s a little less easy.
So, nothing major, but it’s all rather grindingly tiring and dull. If it wasn’t CFF I’d say it’s a bit like radiotherapy. I will say I haven’t felt this low in a long while.
My usual approach is to Do More and Get On and Smile And Keep Perspective and Keep Going and I’m doing as much of that as I can. But I’m also allowing myself to stay close to home, and sometimes cry, and sometimes stay quiet, and admit, here, that everything is feeling a bit uphill.
It will get better. Of course it will. Alan at my shoulder means I’m not alone and well loved and looked after. But I post this today, partly because it’s how today is, and partly because I sometimes worry that my reputation for positivity might make people feel that my message is ‘you should be happy all the time’.
If I have a message at all, it’s about being honest. And honestly, I’ll be glad when this bumpy bit of my life is over.