My moods are swinging like a seventies suburban dinner party. Avocado prawns, anyone? I had a lovely calm 24 hours, stared into a fire, gazed at the moon, laughed until it hurt, spent a lovely hour or two reading in a quiet house. I got back home and industriously washed, dried and waterproofed everything in sight. I was even beginning to get used to the absence of children. I packed, printed timetables and directions. All good. I was virtually bouncing off the walls with going-adventuring-excitement.
And then I wasted an hour having a(nother) hideous conversation, and honestly, all that optimism? It’s just vanished. I’m never going to escape this. I don’t have the willpower. I can’t put the boot in. I’m stuck. Trapped. And I hate it.