That's what I'm going to say when I meet my dear Hannah again. I have definitely missed her, and it has been my intention all the time to go visiting her in her new home in Scotland. With a little bit of luck I might just do that in a near future! Imagine that, drinking pure single malt "on site", Christmas shopping on Princes Street and long chats with my friend by the fire. Auch aye!
That's what it says on my Blogger dashboard: create post. How I wish I could do that, simply press a button and be rewarded with an instant and ready-made post. You see, there's no shortage of stories to tell, I just don't know how to. I have funny stories, I have sad stories. There are some which might be better off left untold, and then there's one I have to tell. And that one sort of clogs up the rest. Like a congested chest inhibiting you from breathing properly; the only thing you can do is wheeze. So until I find some relief you'll have to put up with my rattling coughs and questionable discharge.
It's funny though how it all seems to go hand in hand. My laptop is kinda sluggish too, and ever so often my browser hangs while telling me it's not answering. "Thanks for the information, stupid! Think I noticed! #¤$%*!@" (How lucky our computers aren't talking back while we're abusing them...) But there are remedies to fix the machine - I have Ad-Aware and Wise Cleaner installed, and once they've been doing their work I reckon we're up to speed again.
At least the computer might be, I think I need an hour of healing - the human equivalent to registry cleaning and malware removal.
Been sitting here all day, like a limp doll, uncapable of mobilizing enough energy to do just anything. My head is a mess. Well, I wrote a mail, but I don't think that counts. Write I can do in my sleep. (Which I often do, judging the result.)
There's so much I need to do, so much I need to say. But first I need to get out...
Came home from Sweden yesterday morning, and was a little anxious about what was going to meet me. Last time I went away and left my 16-year old for 3 weeks, the flat looked bombed when I got back. Now I'd been away for twice as long and dreaded the worst. But deep down I knew it would be different, and I was right. She'd done a fantastic job, and I was so happy to see her again. But although the flat was tidy and clean, it was ice cold...
I've got a friend who's a true savior; whenever I'm in some kind of need he'll be on my doorstep faster than you can say emergency call. Yesterday was no exception and in the afternoon he came over with the trunk of his car loaded with wood for my oven. So thanks to him I'm nice and warm again. And when there's no wood I can always drink gin. Which I did last evening anyway, just 'cause I felt like it. If you then add the sizzling chat later last night, it sums up to "triple hot".
Tonight there's a fire again, but no gin, nor any nightly conversations. Just me and the burning flames.
