What next?

Well, somewhat unsurprisingly, I didn't get the job at OSH. They phoned up and told me how wonderful I am, and how I was their second choice, but that the rugby-playing teacher from the boys' grammar school had pipped me to the post. (No? Really?!). I pointed out that it would be an awful lot more satisfying to have come second if there had been more than one vacancy. It's a bit like getting two numbers on the lottery, when you need three for a prize. 'Almost' is not enough.

So yesterday I met my friend Elaine and went for a long walk in the forest, which was lovely. We probably walked for an hour and a half, while the dog got himself coated in mud. Elaine said Pal always looks like he's just been washed and blow-dried, because he's so wonderfully fluffy. I said 'Not in this lifetime!'. He certainly didn't look like he'd just been to the dog-parlour by the time we got back. He then spent the afternoon asleep in the hall, shedding dried mud onto my carpet.

The weekend stretches ahead of me full of possibility. I have some stuff to do for work, and a few letters to write but I don't feel motivated to do any of it, really. I'm so exhausted, and mentally quite depressed too. The energy has sapped out of me. I need to spend a few months getting better. I suffer from depression from time to time. There are some years when it doesn't trouble me at all, and then that black cloud comes back and I have to take some time to deal with it. I'm getting better at this process, and the advent of modern medicines has made things a lot less painful, compared to what was on offer 25 years ago. Having said that, I'm not taking any drugs at the moment, and I don't really want to rely on them as a first resort.


The sun is streaming through the glass into the hall downstairs. I think I might just lie on the hall carpet and shed dried mud for a few hours.

;o)