Sleepy. Sleepy. Sleepy. Two hours sleep last night, for a wide variety of reasons. Now I’m in an office with the kind of Air Conditioning that keeps you warm without making you comfortable, and makes you want to close your eyes and drift off up the stairs to Bedfordshire. Or something. At least, everything relating to Christmas is done, and I’ll be heading down to Hampshire quite soon.
There’s stuff happening- and I can’t talk about it. I guess this is where a blog that you know is being read by people you know falls down, as you don’t get the useful “this is under lock and key” feeling that you get with a diary. It doesn’t help that I’m seriously sleep deprived- but I do have a problem, and I need to sort it out. However uncomfortable or difficult it may make life, I need to sort it out.
One thing about this problem (which I can’t talk about) is that it’s made me realise exactly how fantastic my Dad is. I called him to talk about it last night, and then he called me this morning just to check how I was, and to talk things through. It’s easy to take things on trust, but when you realise how much someone cares for you, and the fact that you care for them right back, it’s rather a surprise sometimes.
Trouble is, this is probably making you think I’ve either (a) got a terminal illness or (b) about to be killed by a loan shark. Or any other options that you can think of.
Thankfully, neither of these are the case. It’s nothing that can’t be solved with the ancient Samurai art of conversation…