The Kennel Club

I woke up this morning.

This in itself is remarkable because it means that I slept. I woke up awash in sweat, disoriented and dazed, but I woke up nonetheless.

Yesterday I moved into the boxroom (I'm calling it The Kennel- all new homes deserve a name, surely?). Ironically, it's where Mrs Gripes' Maw always used to think I slept... I do love irony.

I can't say the move wasn't traumatic: the lines of a Sondheim song keep running through my head;

Everything's different
Nothing's changed
Only maybe slightly rearranged

You're sorry-grateful
Why look for answers
Where none occur?

You always are
What you always were
Which has nothing to do with
All to do with her

Being back here means I have to face things, face consequences, face myself. I know I stayed away too long, imposing myself on someone else like a needy, greedy cuckoo in a nest, demanding, demanding, demanding so very unfairly - and I am sorry-grateful for that - I was delaying the inevitable and I should learn from it. I shall learn from it. I am learning from it.

Now I am here I need to face-up to the myriad decisions I need to make, the changes that need to occur; that's hard, albeit necessary- inevitable maybe. Maybe a kennel is what I need right now: a roof, food and occasional walkies... find out what kind of animal I really am.

Well, here's hoping...