It's been a funny couple of days.  Not funny ha-ha or even peculiar, just funny in the sense that I haven't felt so out of time for a while.  The last days of unemployment were like this, when the four walls you see are all you will see all day.  And then, at the end of the day, when normally you would come home, I have been sallying forth to go to things (3 Essex Book Fest events in one week) - it's all the wrong way round.

When you are in this state, little things can take on vast proportions.  A letter regarding a gift subscription to a magazine for my husband for example.  I bought 6 months, in case he didn't like it.  I've already ignored one 'resubscribe' letter, to get another one saying 'you only have 3 issues left (ie half!) and now have 14 days to sign up for 12 months or we'll write to the recipient.'  I did actually check 'blackmail' in the dictionary and this is it.

The joys of Twitter - I've got an outline apology and, if I give them the details, a pledge not to send the letter.  But nothing about not sending it to others...

She pressed send, imagining the thud as the tweet landed, weighted down with strong words.  Then the coin-flip of whether anyone would hear.  In silence, waiting.