Three days

It feels like a hundred years has passed by and it's only been three days. Day one I felt suffocated in my room and took action against the claustrophobia by taking down my feature wall of artwork. The creations made by my nieces I have carefully put away in a folder while my own paintings and drawings lay somewhat carelessly in a heap on the table. The coffee cream wall I've revealed is vast and empty now but for a miniature globe on a nail, my skydive certificate and some distant dream leaflet of Scotland. I regretted the action almost immediately because now a lot of the character in this room has disappeared. The childish elements that lingered have been discarded and if it wasn't for the paper mache alien in the corner you could almost pretend this was the room of a normal adult. I do feel a little more comfortable in the open space. A little.

A full weekend here is like a prison sentence. A headache of outstanding pain gripped me on the second day and I crawled into bed making the room as shaded as possible and attempted sleep at eight O'clock. It's a sign, it's all a sign. The air in these four walls is poison, I have a headache even now. The third day I couldn't  tolerate anymore and I escaped, I spent the day with my sister in law and the evening out with my crew of friends all pushing forward finding their place in the world and even though I still had a raging headache most of the night at least I was with people I could have fun with and not stuck in those four walls suffocating in slight madness.

Tonight I will be back with my Mr Jones and Connie and all will be well. I cannot work when I am bordering on unhappy, and my happiness is measured by time spent with the two loves of my life. This is why my writing was at such a standstill for so long, because I hadn't met him and life was very near sad and pointless. I have written more in the last year and half than I have done since school when I first met Grace. Now my Mr Jones is back I can concentrate on proofreading my first.