Then I felt the urge to listen to Joni Mitchell’s ‘Judgement of the Moon and Stars’, which I’ve been listening to on cassette in the kitchen, and I thought I must have uploaded onto the PC when I was doing that a few months ago. I couldn’t find it, but I did find the files for her album ‘Hejira’, and played ‘Amelia’, which got me into a sad and thoughtful mood, which wasn’t necessarily where I wanted to go.

By that time, Office was reconfigured and Word was open. I suspect it’s now reconfiguring every time I restart the PC (which should be every day, but I must admit sometimes I forget to switch it off properly and it stays in hibernation till the next morning). I don’t use the PC much in the daytime after I’ve finished blogging, now that I’ve got the laptop downstairs, where the wifi’s better and it’s warmer – I don’t have the radiator switched on in here because it’s under the window, behind the desk and printer. Ironic to think that I bought the laptop at the end of 2019 so I could take it out and sit in cafes to write – one of many small ironies of the last twelve months.

Maybe what I’m doing here is reconfiguring my mind every morning. It’s a thought.

In telling the story of the Madwoman in the Attic, I flitted around quite a bit chronologically, and I think I may have missed out completely the time in Prague. I started going through the blogs from that time about three years ago, after I finished the first draft of ‘The Long Way Back’, but I gave up on it quite quickly. Maybe that should be a task for this year – or would be, if I was setting myself tasks, which I’m not.

The gist, I suppose, of the Madwoman idea, was that through those limbo years until I moved into this house in October 2016, the Stuff was always hanging around in the dusty corners of my mind, along with the knowledge that at some time the house would be sold, and it would come home to roost, but also I would be in a position to buy a permanent home for it (and me). And yet, although I’m here, and it is too, the chaos remains unresolved.

Amelia, Joni Mitchell

Sometimes, really big things happen, and there’s no real choice but to get on and do something about them. Most days, things happen which are annoying, depressing, frustrating at the time, but you either find a way of dealing with them or you have to let them go – and then, maybe, you find there is a way of dealing with them – or at least getting round them – after all. All this a pretty trite, I suppose, the sort of thing that only sounds profound when it’s staring you in the face.

Lots of frustrating things happened yesterday, but I don’t want to go into details. And I’ve finally put up my bookshelves. It took me three days – not three whole days, of course, but a period of time each day up until the point when I decided I’d have enough and would leave the rest till tomorrow. By that time yesterday, the shelves were all in except for the last one, because I didn’t have enough shelf supports. Then in the evening I noticed there was an extra shelf support sticking out one of the holes at the side. On the first shelf I did, I’d put this support in the wrong place, not lined up with the other side, but instead of taking it out, I’d left it there and put another one in the right hole, then went on to do the rest until I got to the last one and only had three supports left. I cursed Argos, and went on the website, but there was no way of ordering extra parts, like there is with IKEA, and because I’d had it for two months, there was no point in complaining. Maybe I could improvise with a nail or something where the support should be, or just make do with four shelves. It wasn’t such a big deal. But now, of course, I can put the other shelf in anyway.

There’s one fixed shelf in the middle, and I’d put some stuff on it on Sunday evening – not things that I intended to stay there, just for convenience. There used to be a small table in the corner, next to the sofa, which had accumulated a lot of junk, which is now scattered around the room. The table and the standard lamp are now in the other alcove on the other side of the fireplace, behind the telly.

Now I need to fill the shelves. The bottom one is quite tricky to get at, because there isn’t much room between it and the sofa. But it’s big enough for knitting patterns. And the next one can be for the random stuff that used to be on the table.

Every Day is Yours to Win, REM

If I start typing, what will come out of my fingers? What have I been thinking about in the two hours since I woke up? I don’t want to remember, and you don’t want to know. I tried to fix the motion-sensitive, darkness sensitive light on my landing by replacing the batteries and it still doesn’t work. Last time this happened, I took it down and left it on my dressing table for a couple of years, then picked it up one day and changed the batteries again, and it miraculously came on, and has been working ever since until yesterday. I don’t know if I can be bothered to leave it on my dressing table again for another couple of years.

I once tried a blog thing (I think it was a group set up by someone else) where you wrote fifty words about something positive and uplifting. I did it a few times, then gave up, and I think everyone else in the group did pretty much the same. If I have to think happy thoughts before I write, I can’t write anything at all. Don’t have that sort of imagination. It’s like the inverse of that thing the pop-psychologists say about ‘…try not to think of an elephant…’ I have heard that so many times that these days, it doesn’t immediately conjure up an image of a pachyderm so much as an infuriatingly chirpy self-help guru whose face needs a good slapping.

Wow, look at that, 250 words, half way already.

The days when I wake up without this dark cloud of gloom over my head are vanishingly rare – I think there might have been one I wrote about a couple of months ago when I’d been reading in bed and actually felt good by the time I started writing? Not sure, it was probably more recently than it feels. I do, admittedly, often feel better by the time I’ve finished writing. I really noticed this in the summer, when most days I could take my breakfast out into the garden and eat in the sunshine. Won’t be doing that today, however.

Bin day today, which means I will get as far as the front gate this evening. I actually can’t remember the last time I left the house (and garden and forecourt) – I think I had a couple of visits to the shops between Christmas and New Year, but don’t think there have been any since. All this is my choice, of course, there isn’t really anything to stop me walking to the sea front except apathy and general can’t-be-arsedness.

Yesterday I had a go at trying on my jumper, and concluded that I had separated the sleeves from the body too soon, as I suspected, so I undid all the work I’d done on it the previous day. I’m happy with that decision.

Just read a tweet which says: ‘Freedom is nothing but only a chance to be better.’ Better in what way? I wonder.

I announced that the smaller attic room would be the birthplace of ‘…the first great novel of the twenty-first century!’ With a legacy from my parents (who had both passed away early in 1999) I bought a new computer (the first time I’d had one that was all my own, instead of sharing a family one), a leather-topped desk and captain’s chair (which I still have) and a suite of flatpack office furniture (which I assembled by myself, but which has suffered after multiple house moves since and has mostly gone). I filled the shelves with books and filled my time with housework, job applications and managing the activities and transport needs of two youngsters who were rapidly morphing into teenagers. I was living in a Grade 2 listed Georgian house and garden, beautiful beyond any realistic expectation I might have had, and I told myself every day how lucky I was.

Six years later, in the middle of an autumn night, I went up into my attic room, switched on my computer, Googled ‘free blogs’, found a site called ‘blog.co.uk’, created my first blog (which I titled: ‘Husband or Cat?’) and wrote the following:

Here’s my scenario…

I have had a cat for nine years. Before we got the cat, my husband always swore he didn’t want one, but since we have had it he has always got on very well with it and has never shown any animosity towards it.
I recently decided to get another kitten. My husband’s reaction went something like this:
Hubby: If we get another cat, we have to get rid of the old one.
Me: We’re not getting rid of the old one.
Hubby: In that case, I’ll go.
Me: OK, you go then.
In spite of this conversation, I went ahead and got the kitten on the assumption that my husband was not serious, and that he would learn to love the new cat just as he had with the old one.
However, he refuses to be in the same room as the kitten, to the extent that he will not eat a meal with myself and our daughter if the kitten is present. When he is not at work, he has taken to spending all his time in a room in the attic.
When I asked him how long he intended to keep this up, he announced that he did not wish to be in the same house as the kitten and would find somewhere and move out.
I offered to get rid of the kitten, but he replied that it was too late and he was going anyway.
This after 23 years of marriage, 28 years together, and never any hint in the past that he was dissatisfied with our relationship in any way.
No one would make this up. This is my life.
What happens next?

husbandorcat, blog.co.uk, 16 October 2005

First time I’ve had Christmas in my own home for ten years. Not the first time I’ve blogged on Christmas Day but I can’t really think of what to say. Earlier I could, but now I’m not so sure. I think I’ll just go and get breakfast.

I feel I should write something to explain how I feel, except that… I don’t think I can express it very well. I can say I’m fine, and really I think I am, and the more I say on that theme, probably the less convincing it will seem, so maybe it’s best to say nothing.

I’m expecting Skype calls with both families today, and I got a turkey crown yesterday in the Co-op – not the same Co-op that had the sign saying none of their stores were selling turkeys, but my usual one. So I bought it though it will serve six, and the steak is consigned to the freezer!

I decided I needed some lights for my tiny little tree (which is about as long as between my elbow and hand), so on Tuesday I had a look for the box with all the Christmas stuff in the cupboard under the stairs – it wasn’t there, but I did find a large plastic folder with some of my artistic efforts from a few years back, lino prints and drink-and-draw sessions and some feeble attempts at watercolour from years earlier. I found a couple of poems scribbled on pages in sketchbooks too, neither of which I think had ever been typed up or turned into anything. I was going to blog one of them with the awful picture it came with, but didn’t get round to it.

As I couldn’t find the box, on Wednesday I ventured up into the loft. Getting the ladder down is enough of a challenge, but I did that and got my head into the loft, where I could see the box I wanted without going through the hatch, so pulled it towards me, then had to turn it end on to get it through, then tried to go down the steps, but couldn’t hold the box, thought I was going to trap my arm, then that I would trap my fingers, then let the box fall, then lost my balance and fell myself (from about halfway up the ladder). Plastic box shattered with a mighty crash, shards of red plastic (and glitter) everywhere, but miraculously, a set of four glass tumblers in a cardboard carton were intact, as were two boxes of glass baubles from Prague. The only casualty seemed (at first sight) to be a tree topper star which lost one of its arms, and was no great loss, but later I discovered that one of the banister posts had broken in the middle, which I guess must have been caused by my body rolling into it – I don’t remember that happening, but nothing else heavy enough got that close.

But my tree has lights.

The bowl is a red one, fresh out of the dishwasher, a nicely hemispherical, high sided shape, one of four (red, green, blue and purple) which I bought in the big Tesco at the Novy Smichov mall in Prague, three tram stops (or was it four?) from my flat.

I have four matching plates as well, though I didn’t buy them as a set – just started with the blue bowl and plate when I was still sharing a house – I think I had a blue mug as well, and a red one, but I’m not sure about the other colours. If I had more, I can’t remember breaking them, though I must have had mugs, and I can’t remember any others, apart from one with cats on which I still have, and one from Berlin which I broke while I’ve been living in this house. The purple bowl also got broken a couple of years ago – but I have another purple bowl, from Wilko, in a similar shape, slightly bigger and not the right shape to stack with the Tesco ones.

The order is: red, green, blue, purple (alternating the primary and secondary colours, which were bought later, and with purple at the end because it’s not stackable), and the matching bowls are stacked in the dishwasher, in the correct order, so that they can be taken out and placed on the shelf on the right of the plate rack, and the plates are stacked in the same order, both in the dishwasher and on the plate rack. The purple plate is on the end because when I get to it I have to take the bowl from the other shelf. Now this system is wrecked and I don’t know how I’ll cope – except that I have three different coloured bowls (turquoise, purple and teal), with matching plates and mugs, which I’ve bought individually from the Whittards outlet shop in Gunwharf Quays.

Why am I so fanatically orderly about this, when I’m so chaotic otherwise? I have no idea.

I’m still making cards, so the mess is still over the table. Although I posted most of them last Friday, I’ve been making them for my son and daughter. I thought about making them for the grandchildren, couldn’t think what to do, then had an idea so started doing those. And I need a birthday card for my step-granddaughter, though she’s at an awkward teenage age. I’ve made three gluten free Christmas puddings as well – three, because I have small basins, cereal bowls, really. The mixture makes two medium sized ones, but one of those still contains last year’s failed effort (because all the dry ingredients were GF, but I still mixed it with Guinness and barley wine before I realised).

It’s ten years since I’ve spent Christmas, or let in the New Year, in my own home. This year I’ll definitely be home for the latter, and in the last couple of days I’ve become less sure about the former. The current plan is my daughter’s from the 23^rd to Boxing Day, and then to my son’s till the 29^th, but now I don’t know what to do – if any of us turn out to be in tier 3 after today, I think I’ll just stay here. If I do, I’m not sure what I’ll have for Christmas dinner. In 2010 I had a rolled and stuffed turkey breast joint from M&S, but don’t recall seeing anything like that in any of my local supermarkets. I’ll be all right for pudding, obviously, and also for booze.

I used to decorate my first flat on the Solstice, with candles, and evergreens picked from the old garden. In 2012, in my Fenland ‘penthouse’, my daughter and granddaughter brought me a tiny tree in a pot, which I kept, but which died of drought a couple of summers ago. Also I put up star lights in the windows, shining from the top of the building over the canal and the flat fields. But since then I’ve never bothered. This year, it will be a miracle if I manage to get the house looking tolerably tidy for the catsitter (should I need her), let alone faffing about with tinsel and pine needles.

Whatever happens, I’ll be fine. I think this year has taught me a lot, about accepting myself as I am and life as it is.

I said on Sunday that I’d been thinking I needed some shelves in the front room – despite the fact that only last year I finally got someone to come and take away the unit which was in there, which had shelves and cupboards at the bottom and a smoked glass fronted cupboard at the top, because I thought it was taking up too much space. But when I started thinking about shelves again, I had in mind something that could go in one of the alcoves either side of the fireplace, which would be more out of the way. The study is full of IKEA ‘Kallax’ cube units, which I bought because they’re so versatile – they’re a good size for box files, jigsaws, albums (the vinyl, musical kind and the photographic kind, both of which I’ve got lots of), and you can get extra storage things to fit in them, like soft boxes which you can stuff with knitting wool, and internal shelves, and drawers, and little doors to turn them into cupboards… except, of course, mine have just got stuff dumped indiscriminately on them. I could fit a two-by-four sized one into that alcove, but maybe something else would be better?

On our way back from the trip to IKEA, my daughter and I dropped in at her Dad’s place, to pick up the grandson whom he’d collected from school, and were talking about this dilemma, when my ex said:

‘Would the ones I got from Argos be what you’re looking for?’ So we went into his dining room and looked at two quite simple, basic, nice-looking bookcases, which is why, on Saturday when I was looking to buy them online, I looked at the Argos ones, and ordered one from there instead of IKEA – despite the fact that we bought cheap furniture from Argos years ago, and it was always a bit rubbish – but hey, I’m not anticipating a spread feature in Better Homes and Gardens, so anything I can just shove stuff onto in the corner will suit me fine.

It was delivered, in two boxes, on Sunday morning, and in a fit of enthusiasm I opened the box and read the instructions. All looks pretty straightforward, and I was tempted to launch into assembling it straight away, then thought: is it sensible to start doing this straight away when there are so many other things I’ve got to do?

So I now have two large cardboard boxes lying on the front room floor, which I ignore and step over, and the cat is slowly learning to navigate around, or stare at until I push them out of her way.

Actually it wasn’t as spontaneous as that made it sound. I’ve been thinking I needed some shelves in my front room for some time now – more or less since my therapist commented on how little she can see of my room on Skype, while I can see quite a lot of hers – bookshelves, and pictures on the wall, and so on. But that is presumably because she sits at a computer which is against a wall or window and is hence facing into the room, whereas I sit on the sofa with my laptop on a stool in front of me, so that I’m facing the room and the screen is facing the blank wall behind me. In other words it depends on perspective – to me her room is elegant and attractive and mine is full of junk which has been shoved out of the way, but to her, mine looks stark, almost Spartan, and gives away nothing about me.

I still haven’t put up many pictures even though I’ve been here four years – I’ve mentioned this before, about the walls being two hard to knock in nails or hooks, and lots of people have advised me to get Command strips, which I did, although first I got cheap Velcro ones which didn’t work, then I got the Command ones and in the summer my daughter helped me to put up one poster and a mirror which I bought in a closing down sale, but I still haven’t done any of the others, mostly because I just don’t think about it. I have a nice picture to go into my spare bedroom/exercise and meditation room, I’ve chosen the perfect spot for it and written it on my to do list, and copied onto the new list whenever I get round to making a new list, but it’s still there because it hasn’t been done yet.

When I was staying with my daughter at the beginning of October, we went to IKEA and I bought a new frame for one of my Paris pictures, because I’d taken it downstairs (in the summer when I was thinking about putting them up), and left it propped in the hall because I didn’t know where to put it or whether I trusted the Command strips to hold such a heavy frame, and it was propped against the wall for a couple of weeks until one day when both the front and back doors were open at the same time and the wind blew it over and the glass broke. So I bought a new frame in IKEA and then realised it was too big to go in my suitcase, and I was going home by train and didn’t want to carry it with me, so it’s still at my daughter’s house waiting for me to go back again and take the car (or for her to drive here, whichever happens first).