Life is a little sub-rosy. Nothing huge, and the secret, ridiculous gratitude lists I keep indicate there is more good than bad (although, today, ‘raw kale salad’ topped the list: clearly, some days have lower peaks than others).

I’m slight sick and slightly sad. Both are being worked on and there are a number of strategies, some free on the NHS, some expensive, some involving getting more sleep and not eating wheat or worrying so much.

(Wheat and worry were a point of potential analogy. Alas, they lack anything in common except the ‘w’. Worry does not grow in fields, although I suppose it is an unsustainable crop, if we’re *really* flogging that dead horse.)

This little transition part of my life (the sixth months my lizard-brain has had to get used to New Country/New Career/New House/ New Friends/New Colleagues/New Stresses/New Levels of Freezing Cold) was always going to involve a little bit of wailing, a tiny gnash of teeth.

So whence the gloom? And more specifically, whence the flatness of this post, the dull explicitness?

I’m sorry if I have cancelled plans, been pants at making an effort, seemed distant. I almost certainly *really* want to hang out. And I am sorry. Being *bleurgh* can also make me self-centred and bad at plans.


Anyway. I miss you. And I’d like to see you soon.