Bubbles

Tiredness sits on me like a huge squishy cushion with someone sitting on it. Actually, we managed a brief walk to the spot between the holly and the hawthorn where we had a our handfasting ritual two years ago, and sat on my mac, listening to the birds, during a short-lived almost sunny spell, between hail and rain showers. When the sun goes and the precipitation comes, it's cold. Later we shall open a bottle of champagne - the real McCoy - Mumm - given to us in honour of our new house by my brother, and saved for the right occasion. Maybe being this exhausted isn't ideal, but our second wedding anniversary seems worthy of bubbles.

I am not sure why I am quite so tired. It was good to see K, and we talked a lot, ate, drank (possibly too much...) and went singing, but having anyone here to stay always seems to take a lot of energy, and I had not even begun to process not getting the job when she arrived. I think I need quiet and solitude and rest in the next few days, and am determined to start spending more time writing. After all this enforced leisure can't last. I'll kick myself if I haven't made the most of it. So a new regime is required, some self-discipline, a plan. I feel all kinds of ideas bubbling beneath the surface, just need to give them the time and space to make it onto paper where I can see them, play with them, craft them...