Let’s be honest, it’s easier to write a confessional blog, if you have something to confess. For a moment, thinking over this week, I was concerned. As long-term readers will know, I have lived in a state of chronic overwhelm for as long as I can remember. But I am relatively On Top of Things.
It’s a heady feeling, dampened only by the worry about blog topics.
It started last weekend, when I cleared out the box shelves in our hall. That Monday, I had the following unprecedented experience:
Child one: I can’t find my backpack.
Me: It’s in your new cubby hole.
Child one: And I need my PE kit.
I pulled it out from same place.
Child two: I can’t find a tie.
Me: I’ve put spares in this box.
The children were saying the same things last week. The unprecedented bit was my ability to help.
This success set off a decluttering spree. I can’t go through everything I got rid of, because my husband reads this blog. He’s already looking haunted, worrying what he’ll notice missing in a few years’ time.
Writing-wise, I’ve finished the draft. It’s uploaded onto my e-reader, nicely formatted and ready for me to go through after half-term. I have no idea how much work I have ahead of me. Hopefully, no more structural stuff, just painting and decorating.
Reading-wise, I’m confusing the amazon algorithms. Yesterday, they recommended fluffy historical romance and Nabokov.