Lack of motiva . . .

I don't know why. The sun's shining but I'm not. I've not even looked at my blog properly since Monday and, while that might seem like nothing, it's significant for me.

I've had two lovely walks on the beach but I can't shake this apathy. I am tired. I haven't been sleeping well, a combination of slightly off tummy, bad dreams, and normal wakefulness. So once I've written here I'm going to stir myself and do some gardening.

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I did some sewing this morning!

My favourite cardigan got torn a few weeks ago so this morning I finally shook myself into sitting down and mending it. You all know I'm not a sewer right?

No-one's going to look that closely at it. And it's marginally better than my last attempt at darning when I only had brown thread. I have no idea where a spool of green thread might have come from but it was ideal.

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When you spot a book with a jigsaw piece cut out of the cover you know I have to read that!

My most recent jigsaw is a 1960s newsagent, and it's just perfect. So many familiar objects. Everything I remember about our local newsagent's, except possibly a bit tidier.

Billie Davies ran our newsagent's and his brother, Johnnie, ran the chip shop next door. It was just around the corner from where we lived and as soon as I was old enough my gran would send me to Billie's for her cigarettes. And if I returned with the wrong change I'd be sent straight back.

I lived at home during my university years and one evening I was sent to Billie's as usual to get cigarettes and there was another man standing in the shop, chatting to Billie. It must have been not long after I'd started uni and Billie asked me how I was getting on.

The other man, whom I didn't know, picked up on my name and said, "Liz, I often pop into the university and eat lunch in the refectory, you'll have to join me one day."

I should have looked him up and down and scathingly replied, "No, thank you. I have my own friends."

As it was I was terrified. Embarrassed and humiliated. After that if I saw his car outside the shop I would go to another newsagent or walk miles around the village to delay having to go in. And if my friends wanted to eat in the refectory I'd quickly scan the room and if I saw him, make an excuse not to go in. Without explaining obviously. What is that? Shame? Embarrassment? The inability to deal with adult situations in a grown-up manner?

I was young for my age. My mother had always been very/overly protective of me. Other people's actions could still cause me agony. I like to think that at my great age I would deal with that situation differently but somehow I doubt it.