Yesterday I got the train to London, and somewhere between Doncaster and Peterborough the weather turned from bright sunny skies, to completely dark grey. On the return trip today I noticed the same thing in reverse. After 2 months of jeans and the threat of rain, I'm back in a skirt.
I definitely like skirts. A lot.
And I'm turning over a new leaf.
Again.
Write positive, be positive.
I haven't written in such a long time. I'm starting again in a shaky, wobbly unsure way. This will hopefully lead to confidence and greatness.
It's not only the blogging that's gone down the pan this summer. I feel pretty much inept at communicating in any way anymore. The ability to prase a text message or an email in such a way as to not appear rude seems to have completely eluded me. I don't know how to make small talk anymore. I don't know how to talk to anyone at work. I probably come accross and wierd and young and completely uncaring, especially in relation to the whole Tim's probably schizophrenic wife situation. I'm rubbish on the phone. When and if I ever get round to it, I don't have any sentances.
Does no one else realise I'm this bad?
I can be better.
Or has it been too long to recover?
I'm still alive.
Just bad at blogging.
And the amount of stuff in my head has reached new levels.
I'm completely clogged up.
I'm failing to communicate.
At all.
So eloquent prose has no chance.
