Knotty

My life is full of knots. Actually, it’s full of nots.

Not blogging every day (because my thoughts bore me, let alone anyone else)

Not writing reviews (because I need to face the fear of getting it all wrong and just write)

Not tidying the house (because I put everything¬†on the floor into sacks into garage weeks ago so I could concentrate on what’s left, and there’s still too much. And I still don’t know where to start. And I still can’t expect my children to be tidy when they’ve grown up in this state. And I don’t know how to do it. And I’m always so very very tired.)

Not walking (because getting washed and dressed seems like too much effort so I drop the children off with jogging trousers and a fleece over whatever I slept in, and eventually shower just before I collect them. Leaving the house for anything else is just too much.)

Not leaving the house (because I’ve not showered, and I have a mental block about going out without a shower, although I am now capable of dropping children off to school in the morning without one.)

Not eating properly (because cooking requires a set of complex skills that I can’t quite manage. Bread and pizza are just about do-able. As is chocolate.)

Not booking a doctor’s appointment (because then I’d have to book it, and get there on time.)

Not replying to emails (because I start to hyperventillate just starting to think about all the things I should be doing.)

Not reading (because I can’t think. But I’ve read two books this week, because I had to do something to start; to stop; to whatever I need to do.)

Not living (because I don’t know what I’m doing at the moment.)

Not.

Not.

Knots.

So I guess it will be upward from now. Because as soon as I manage to put things into words, it usually means things are improving. But I thought that before. And before.

And before.

I think I’ll go have a shower and try to wash out the knots.

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