Lay awake unable to sleep.  Mind buffeted by every passing thought, swept into every dead end, shoved down listless paths of repetition, distracted by blown flotsam.  It was then I realized I had no center.

Had recently read a book, not a very good book, Tuvalu and the only reason the main character was memorable was because he had no center.  He bounced from one scenario to another showing little more than a passing interest in his own life.  It was a somewhat grim and unsatisfying book as he had learned nothing by the end but would continue to meander through the days with about as much sinew as cooked spaghetti.

Which is exactly how I felt.  Didn't sell the Yeti yesterday although I was certain, for the second time, it was sold.  No, he said, the 4 wheel drive doesn't work.  Took it out on flat grass and the wheels didn't turn where they were supposed to.  Not sure how that's supposed to work but took his word for it.  He doesn't want the car?  He doesn't want the car.

But can I let it go?  Took Mikaela to Dallis Park so she could have a run and I could have a walk.  Had met this man twice, took the car to a mechanic for a pre purchase check (2 and a half hours),  sent him a photo  of the recent service, checked the oil for him, talked on the phone, texted back and forth and then yesterday he wanted to show his partner.  Sold I thought.  Not sold I found.  Another squirrel on the treadmill to replace the ones named Cam and Anthony. 

Drifting.  I do my chores, try and practice guitar, do yoga  and then it's time to feed horses and go see Richard.  Home after visit to walk dog then arvo chores and dinner.  But am not painting or writing.  Living on the surface.  No ooomph.  No spirit.  No spiritual. 

Empty and sad.

Maybe cut myself some slack?  Still mourning?  Each time I leave Heritage I am relieved to escape.  Richard wants to come home, says he's coming home, asks to come home.  And I change the subject, encourage him to look at picture books (coffee table type books with photos) with me, ask him to eat a piece of fruit.  I make busy tidying up his room.  Then I sit and hold his hand or rub his back and try to pretend this pretty room with its tv and the occasional glimpse of bush turkeys scurrying past is not a prison.