The flats have gone and I am sad

I am profoundly sad. I do not look it, I do not sound it, I do not even feel it so absolutely WIRED I am but I know it, deep in that beating bleeding heart of mine.

I called the Estate Manager to ask if people were viewing the flats today and he said they've gone. People viewed it earlier this week. They were accepted. He'd put in a good word for me, he said.

Him, Mr Gray, my MP, my support worker, my doctor, even the executive King on the housing board, all of them put in a good word for me. The Council couldn't give a fuck.

The Estate Manager said he can't understand it, I am a good tenant, but my points are so few, he cannot understand that either. He's told me to appeal.

I am a One Woman Army but I can't do this alone. But like the soldiers in Afghanistan, I must not give up. They can't, they are not allowed to even if they want to, I mustn't. I must be as brave as them, no matter how tired I am feeling.

As luck would have it, my mate Charlie texted me inviting me to lunch. His treat. I can pour my wired profound sadness into his glass (poor bloke but he can handle it).

Then I have to start thinking of this appeal.

I have to do this appeal.

For my son and my sanity's sake I must win this appeal.

I must eat.

So thanks Charlie for your very timely text.