Stars in the snow

I don't want it to be Christmas in four days. I want at least a week more than that. I'm not ready. I have bought a single book as my entire Christmas shopping. And the book is not a whole present, it's just Peake's Nonsense book, it was under the children's section in Oxfam, which is obviously wrong.

Warm floaty times. Glass of wine or mulled cider with dinner. Roast dinner, Indian take away, me cooking pesto chicken stuff and them loving it. Watching television as a group. Walking to the post office through the snow. Them being about 50. The gay couple next door, one from Portugal. Going shopping with Sue and being given £15 tights when she can't afford to buy new clothes for herself. No adolescents or even young adults. Being photographed so that she can paint me and still coming out looking like a psychopath (the first time I tried to spell that it suggested I meant 'facecloth'). I love it.

My family are finally back in England, though, so this moment of some sort of silence is almost over. That's okay. I don't mind leaving although I wouldn't mind staying. It's mild. I hope the family get home okay through the snow, though.

Despite the ever-present cough and secondarily the cold, I feel nursed back to reality, even though this is nothing like reality. I feel strong enough to deal with the past and the future, as long as I don't worry about them too much. Things seem okay, even if they're bad, because I don't need to blame myself, and I don't need to pretend, for a while. That's nice.

Show about Yellowstone on today. Almost screamed when Artist Point came on screen. Song for today, 'Goodbye England, covered in snow' by Laura Marling. I'm not leaving, but one day it will.