This morning I was joined by the cat in sleeping in. Of course, I felt horribly guilty to have slept so late, but I worked last night so... That is my excuse.

I meant to post this yesterday: The night before last, I couldn't sleep. For some reason, my mind was filled with images of my old house in Chewton. My mind's eye wandered every inch of the place, from the garden of pigface to the stone stairs that I helped mix the mortar for. I can quite honestly say that no place has ever meant more to me. So, unable to stop the thoughts tumbling over and over in my head, I turned on my light and grabbed a notebook. (I keep at least one near my bed.) I scrawled two or three pages before I started to cry. The last sentences are 'Possession changes nothing, I am that house, it is me. It is in my blood.'

My brother and I have vowed to one day get the house back. And so we will.