I'm stuck.  And I'm Sad.  And it's rained every day this month.  But the washed green leaves are pretty.

Being stuck.  The book has been limping along.  I don't have writer's block.  I want to write.  I just don't know how to write the ending.  I see a couple of scenes but have no idea how to get the characters from point A to B and C and finally Finis.  Some ideas came while walking yesterday and a couple of them can be incorporated to round out some of the latter scenes - but no definitive ending in sight.  

Yesterdays 500 words were the hardest I've written.  Like walking in the dark; hands out, eyes straining into the blackness, feet shuffling forward and you still miss the door handle by a couple of feet and have no idea where in the room you are.  

Yes, that's why I'm blogging; because I've no idea what to write today.

On being Sad.  Every day seeing Richard.  He is so far away from me.  He is more connected with the staff than he is with me.  Even getting him to take a chocolate.  He didn't know to open his mouth or take it in his hands.  I  don't know what to do and after putting the drops in his eyes and the Moo Goo on his skin i just sit and hold his hand while he sleeps.  Then I come home and make coffee and feel the tears prick my eyes.  Every day.  It's like a Clayton's Grief.  A grief that is and it isn't.  No end in sight so I compartmentalize because I have to but it never goes away.  But I cry often about everything and anything. I know this long term background sadness affects me.  Inertia, tiredness, insomnia.  But no use whinging.  Just have to keep going.  There is no alternative.

And then there's the rain.  It's so unceasingly wet mold is growing on top of mold.  The ground cannot hold any more water.  Started digging a hole to plant a fig tree and it has been full of water  for two weeks.  Byangum Bridge will probably go under tonight.  Told Richard I may not see him tomorrow.  I don't think he understood but I tell him anyway.  The birds sit in the rain unmoving.  Everybody waits.  I wait.  Mikaela and I walk regardless.  Sometimes I'm just damp as I don't use the umbrella and it's a misty rain.  Other times it's pelting and we slosh through water coursing down the bitumen.  Mikaela doesn't seem to mind.  She gets a towel down then dinner when we get home.  I get dry clothes.  And the coziness of red wine while the rain continues to fall.  

Kind of matches my mood anyway.