I think if you read my last post you will think I am a very bitter person at the moment. I felt bitter as I wrote it. Sometimes I just need to expel all my anger and a blog seemed to be the best place. Not that suddenly I'm happy as a skylark again; today is just not a good day. I'm angry, mostly at a couple of people who I feel have let me down, though they have done it completely unwittingly. I am in the wrong more than they are, for holding onto this, I have to admit. Because I can't yell and scream at them for tiny sins, I end up taking it out on other things or people, which is very bad of me.

I'm also frustrated and disillusioned with my writing. I wrote a story that I loved, and my creative writing teacher liked it but thought I could do a lot more work on it. So I spent hours editing and editing and editing, exhaustively. Now I hate even looking at it, I've lost my ability to look at it as a whole story, not a mass of little parts, and I think, as does someone else, that it was better off as it was at the start. It's very depressing, to do that much work, and lose something in the process.

And what does all this have to do with my mother, I suppose you're saying. That's just it. I don't know. I simply know that there is some connection. I'm sick of being angry like this, or using anger as a mask for basic depression. I just want my mum back, and then everything would be okay, or so it seems.