What should I be writing about? What should I be doing? It’s mid-April and I haven’t planted a single seed or even bothered to bung in a few violas. Usually by now I have my gardening plan all worked out, but you know what? I can’t be bothered.
I’m unsettled, edgy, distracted, far too hopeless to involve myself in anything. Sometimes I can’t see further than bedtime, what’s the point of looking further when there’s no... No what?
I’ve not felt this way for a very long time, but even the sketchy life plan I had is on hold while my mother in law decides what she’s doing. I’m stuck. No fault of hers and no fault of my own and the person who is at fault, the woman who ran her down, continues on her merry way without comment or fear of what will happen next.
That’s it. I can’t be bothered to write any more tonight.