Evening.

Bed

It is late and I am tired in the nicest possible way it is to be tired: the dull ache of  the expenditure of physical energy without the drain of heartache, sorrow, loneliness, or misery...

Today I bought a beautiful pair of forties style black patent leather stacked slingbacks. I am in love with them. So in love in fact that I have popped them on the white metal shelf in my bedroom so I can smile at them from my bed.

I keep spending money on things I don't need and feeling the teeniest sense of satisfaction in allowing myself to be so bold: to sense the freedom of pleasing myself day after day after day. To have prawn salad three nights on the run just because I want to.  To leave the rosemary and lavender scented bathwater in the bath overnight so the whole house is gently fragranced as I sleep through dreams less hectic than they used to be. To read till three o'clock in the morning  in the bliss of  my own company, and  oh joy, oh joy, oh joy, to pretend that the  World Cup isn't happening....

There is a calm here tonight I don't think I have ever known. It is, I think called acceptance.

Up until a few weeks ago I had a quote from Katherine Mansfield tucked into the corner of my bathroom mirror:

"Risk! Risk anything! Care no more for the opinions of others, for those voices. Do the hardest thing on earth for you. Act for yourself. Face the truth."

I have always loved this quote. Thought that somehow I lived it. But it wasn't true. Not then.

Tonight Mark is home from his jaunt around the Mediterannean. Bronzed and beautiful and ashamed. Maybe he is on his way home. Or maybe fear of facing his own catastrophic actions will keep him away forever.

But six weeks later I am different.  Not seismically so. But enough to know that that there is no going back. That it is time to act for myself. To face the truth and choose the  road  that protects us  all. Together or apart.

Sleep tight Housekeepers. x

On My Wishlist...