Life is busy, busy, busy at the moment. Both the good and bad kind of busy jostling for time and attention.
It is some months yet before the house goes on the market, but there is much to be done. The obligatory forms demand answers, handwritten of course and in triplicate. At least. Answers I'm not sure I have. Simplicity is not a feature of being bendy. I don't know how far I can walk on the flat, or if I struggle to get into my home. Doesn't everyone? A life which seems normal to me for so long now I can remember no other. I baulk at saying I can't when for so long I have fought to believe that I can.
Possessions need to be sorted. To be sold, kept or given away. For once I am glad I own so little. How does one organise a move when to organise a meal is a daily challenge?
I shall be glad to leave a house so cold and difficult to heat. Already the kitchen and bathroom show their refrigeration capabilities. On a day sunny and warm outside, within these walls the purple Help the Aged thermometer tells me to watch for symptoms of cold. My muzzy head confirms the need for caution. Wearing another layer no protection for those of us the government choose to believe need no help keeping warm.
So for now I choose to ignore the mounting fear curled in a ball inside me laid by factors far beyond my control and concentrate upon the fragile spark of hope now glowing within.