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Unfinished, unproofread, soz
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How do you trust your decision-making process when you are mental to the point of attending a psych hospital? I mean. Crikey.

Bloke and I stopped living together in 2007. I'm not going to get into it out here in the world but to have another go now is big stuff. And to choose a house, for fuck's sake - how can you know how it will be? This flat is architecturally gorgeous and that does give small but significant pleasure, but in winter the high ceilings and ancient, single-glazed sash windows make it impossible to heat properly on my budget so I'm often cold. In summer, the whole place is in shade, from May to October, so I'm endlessly coming out of the sunshine, into the gloom. Sitting in the sunshine - that makes you feel good, doesn't it? Or is it just its absence that gives it value?

I haven't seen this house yet, due to fucking appointments all day, but Bloke has. I'm going with him tomorrow. He says it's tattier and smaller than it seems on the ad, but still looks like a place we could make a good life in.

We have to take out pleasures where we can, don't you think? Especially when times are brutal, on an ongoing basis. There's endless small pleasure in mucking about in the garden, mixed with either eating or contemplating the fruits of your labour.

I just deleted a big jumbled paragraph about current events out on the world stage, because in the end I can't tease out all the strands. But I feel we are being played, poked and prodded and told what to feel.

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