I've not really written anything for weeks.
It's not even through a lack of inspiration; I'm bristling with ideas.
Actually... I've written a lot in recent weeks. I just haven't written anything like a blog or a story. I've been channelling my blogs, my creativity, plus my anxiety and my unhinged madness via social media - the medium I love and loathe in equal measure. I've written more on Facebook in the last three months than the previous nine years.
It's because while I steadfastly refuse to get remotely excited about the last great adventure (until we're in Scotland), I can feel the mixture of elation, fear and trepidation rising inside me and it's completely out of my control. I am a big bag of sentimentality.
I expect things will change once we've gone. I will have much to tell people about escaping the rat race while not being wealthy... at least that's the plan.
Life, at the moment, is a wee bit like a delirious fever dream without the fever and a lot more anger.