A strange weekend

Last weekend was composed of two 'off' days in quick succession. I get these sometimes--periods when nothing feels right, when everything seems ... different. In a weird way.

I get snappish. I get irritable. I've been horrible to my dog Amber, not letting her stop for a moment on walks (this may be to do with the fact that we were walking in torrential rain, but it may not). I've been unable to write properly--as I always am when I'm like this--and have achieved a miserable 3,000 words. In fact, the whole of last week wasn't quite right.

These are the times when the illusion of normality gets torn away, and I see my world for what it is. Does that make sense? Probably not. But I know that our perception of the world is based on what we're used to. A place feels comfortable because you know it. But if you suddenly feel you don't know that place, if you're seeing things differently, you don't like it one bit.

What's the Sandlings? I mean, really? Fifty square miles of sand and trees and mud. It is no longer the world of exploration and promise it was when I first moved here. I've grown used to the place, I know every field and every wood; and familiarity breeds contempt. It was the same back in Caxton. I only liked living there because I was near my friends, but once I moved, I realised how much I disliked the actual place.

I think I've probably offended quite a few people, both off- and on-line. If I haven't apologised to you already: sorry!