I fumble to write. I've been driving round, thinking of things I'd like to say here, and yet never quite making it to the page nonetheless. I miss blogging, but at the same time I don't, as the great apathy that overwhelms any urge I might have blankets me in a depressive certainty that I've nothing to say of import, and no energy to say it. Even though I'm aware there are people who'd be happy to read a post I wrote, I still can't imagine stringing words together worth reading.

Here I am though - it might be good to lump something out, de-clog my brain a bit, that's cluttered like this bursting at the seams little laptop I bought without realising it had no storage space.

I had an observation yesterday, in work - we have one bi-annually, from our director, who's a very unimposing, easy-going woman who's younger than me. She's very beautiful, too, red-haired and vulpine, but I think utterly unaware of how attractive she is. I normally stress about observations, and have anxiety dreams about work, but this year, having had two perfectly good ones, I decided to just ... not. And it went excellently. I'm glad - I frequently feel like an inadequate teacher, even if it's only language teaching I do, rather than secondary school teaching. I'm lazy, I don't make massive efforts. I've been doing this too long and I don't care about it enough any more. But it's good to know I've still got the ability to do it right. And it's good to get some feedback that's positive. The rest of the time it's really just me feeling like a failure and my daughter hating me and the relentless jab of memories and regret. Ha! Yeah, I have my period.

I just finished reading Bodhi the last Harry Potter book. Do you know the Limbo scene in the station where Harry talks to a dead Dumbledore and chooses to go back and keep fighting? And a raw, foetal Vodlemort is lying moaning and mewling in a corner? It struck me that that's where Trump is emotionally - without all the trappings of his inherited money and status, he'd be as effective as a bitter, impotent infant Voldemort, trapped and helpless, of use to no-one. Imagine Trump on survival island.What could he contribute? Could you even eat him?

I walked out of work into a sea mist and a gentle drizzle today and the smell of salt hit me in the face as if I was playing in the waves. Such nostalgia for holidays and swimming and cold and fun in the water. It hasn't rained here in a long time and the earth and trees are throwing out such smells. It's grey but utterly lovely, evocative and sensuous.

I'm so glad it's Friday. I've to drive for hours to return the dog we fostered to the shelter tomorrow - I don't want to but I need rid of her, I can't take it any more. We've done our accidental bit, and I've well and truly learned my lesson. She rolled in horrible poo today on her walk, and I had to drag her into the shower and well and truly traumatise her by washing her. That made me feel bad, but ... roll in shit and pay the price. There was no way to do it gently as I had to just force her to stay there with all my strength. Yeesh. Derry loves the shower. He's a pain in the ass, but we got so lucky with him.