A couple of days ago I decided to restart finishing that book that I was so close to finishing writing. The thing was that I was almost done and then the thing with my dad happened and I couldn't go back to it because someone pivotal to the story was killed and that's where I'd finished writing. So, needless to say, I just couldn't face opening up the book. I'd cried when I was writing it. I let Holly read it (after all, this whole story was based on something I used to tell Holly when I used to bathe her when she was little) and she had cried buckets. So, I have been too raw to get back to it. So I thought I'd better start to try to finish it and try to start picking up the pieces of my life.
I'm currently re-reading and reformatting it. It's 277 pages so it's going to take a while. And I'm going to rewrite quite a bit of it because I've changed my mind about several of the characters. Also want to finish it then I will self publish it because I just can't be bothered with trying to 'sell' it to publishing houses. I need to exorcise this ghost in order to get on. I want to do it and then I'll think about following up the story because it's incomplete even after I finish the book. It was never supposed to be a one-off so I have so much more story and it's already long. So I'm going to try to end this thing and try to start anew once that's done.
But, between all this reading (and reading books that hit so close to home they make me cry like a baby) I have also been exercising too much (nothing new there) and not eating enough (huge shocker). Who has time to eat, anyway, when there are so many hours of working out to fit in. And then you have to cook and do laundry and clean shit. Who has time to eat?! At least I'm drinking more FF Lactaid. That's keeping me going.
I spent most of the day today (from 9am - 3:45pm) working out. That's just nuts. I'm aware of it. I did take 2 breaks to drink milk. Big whoop, right? I read while working out on the treadmill for 3hrs 20 mins (no break). Further proof of my nutty behaviour.
I need to make dinner for my family and continue reading my book. My dad's birthday is next week. Another sad reminder that he's no longer with us. I dreamt of him last night. I haven't dreamt of him many times since he died. In my dream I asked him why he was there and he asked me why I was asking so I told him he had died. He told me he was fine and that I'd just been dreaming. He was very much alive and he looked very well. In fact, he looked younger than he did when I last saw him the month before he got sick. He assured me he was very much alive and I was happy. I woke up and I knew it was all a dream and a lie. He wasn't well. He's gone. To be one of those people who believes there's something else after we leave this mortal plane... that would be so sweet. But I don't so I'm shit outta luck.
I also kind of wish we hadn't move to America. I have wished that a lot because it's meant leaving family behind and being so far removed from the life I've always known. And it's not like living here put us closer to Wade's family because it didn't. They are on the west coast and we're on the east coast and my family is in England and in Spain. Well, they were in Spain till... So being here has always been a sore point for me. It's not that I hate the place. I hate the isolation from family. I grew up around the same people. England's tiny compared to America. People, even if they moved away, didn't move far. I don't relish the thought of the children moving away here because here it could mean the other side of the country which might as well be the other side of the bloody moon. So, yes, sore point.
Anyway, got things I have to do and people I have to feed.
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