I have found it difficult to write lately. It seems that I have lost the habit. I feel like I have nothing to say, nothing that I want to say. I have been trying to face everything sober, and am having to learn that that is not easy. Alcohol for me is not the problem… Read more

The cat is dead. My fury love, my source of comfort, the yang to the yin of his brother or cousin Tigre, a royal black lion of a cat in winter, fluffy, with a mane framing his face and his Egyptian nose, died suddenly yesterday morning. He was cuddled up at my feet on the… Read more

Here I am, sat down to write. The urge is gone, the sense of urgency that I had before has withered and died. Now I am back at home. Suitcases half-unpacked, I’m avoiding completing the task. My husband starts travelling again tomorrow, which is Saturday. It seems unfair that he is off to sunny Greece… Read more

I’m sitting on the bed in my office at home, surrounded by my half-unpacked suitcase and all its contents. The smell of the last three weeks is hanging on my clothes, a combination of the hospital, the care home, and sadness. A light but stinging, pungent smell that I don’t completely dislike as it seems… Read more

I am home now. After everything, all the things, everything worked out and I got home. It was a long, sad drive to the airport with my sister. She had a friend with her as a buffer. She probably arranged it just like that so that I wouldn’t talk to her; wouldn’t trap her in… Read more