I used to be a writer

Sitting here in a state of mild shock having just paid an obscene amount of money for two bras. 

In my defence I haven't bought a new bra since before lockdown and in the grand scheme of things I'm really quite cheap to keep when it comes to clothes. On the plus side I refused to buy the matching pants in spite of pressure from the saleslady. And the bras, which are perfectly fitted and make me feel wonderful, will be my Christmas present from Husband.

Along with the two pairs of boots I just bought. Which cost less than the bras. That's why I felt I could buy two pairs. And again I've not bought any since before lockdown. 

I had planned to go to the underwear shop after having my hair done yesterday but when I went to pay the hairdresser I discovered I'd left my credit card at home. Maybe I should have done that today too.

* * * * *

At bible study I had one of those senior moments. One of the men - someone I've know for more than twelve years - was telling us about his mum who was in hospital. I said, "Let's pray for . . ."

He volunteered, "Her name's Frances." I didn't like to tell him it was his name I was trying to remember. 

But it was a good evening. We'd just finished going through the gospel of John and we were having an Any Questions session. Lots of people joined in the discussions and I came away feeling the evening had gone well.

I was still quite hyped up about it going to bed and it took me ages to get to sleep, and then I kept waking. Then I had a nightmare and then I had a heart attack. Obviously I didn't really have a heart attack but you know what it's like when you get strange pains in your chest in the middle of the night. 

I thought about putting my heart monitor on but it was downstairs and too cold to fetch it so I went back to sleep. Woke up again with pains the other side of my chest. It's no wonder I've been tired today.

I've been fine ever since by the way.

* * * * *

I used to be a writer. That's the way it feels at the moment it's been so long since I wrote anything other than my blog or occasional article for The Bay. In fact it's been so long I am anxious about it. 

I have an idea for something I want to write - a piece for the winter solstice - but, though words are drifting around my brain, the thought of putting them on paper/screen is scary. What if I can't get the words to come out right? I know the only way to resolve this is to sit down and write and I will do. Now in a minute.