Guiltless blogging

Hope came to my flat yesterday for a coffee. I asked if she minded coming to me, I had to get on top of my tidying up.

To cut a long story short, she did it. With amazing speed she cleared up the chaos in my living room and bedroom.

I don't know how she did it. It takes me a day just to clear the table. She arranged my son's toys, took everything off the armchairs and sofa and found somewhere for all of it. Some people have a talent for that kind of thing, not me. The corridor, flip, you can walk through it now without stepping on something that isn't the floor. I make our beds erm, everyday, but I've never seen the duvets so straight!

Gratitude doesn't go anywhere near how I feel.

"Everyone has a problem," said Hope. "Yours is tidying up. You're psychologically incapable of doing it. It's totally reflective of your state of mind, anyone can see that."

It's really wierd writing in an uncluttered space. There's loads more to do and throw out but she's made it so much easier.

My son couldn't stop giggling when he saw it, he was so happy.

I spent last night desperate for a permanent home; it was odd to feel so down after such a massive achievement.

The last time I felt secure in a flat was ten years ago in my Bolthole. It was tiny and I kept it so tidy. I discovered yesterday I can't take care of a place if I don't feel secure there.

I'm pretty hopeless at taking care of myself too. Coincidence that...

I've felt free to write this morning; it's been so nice not staring at wretched piles of paper and not knowing how to make a start on it.

Now I should have a go at clearing my kitchen. It wouldn't be a bad idea to eat some breakfast as I'm thinking of that. Or do you call it brunch when it's hours after you wake up?

Thank you, thank you Hope xxx