It’s been far too long since I wrote anything here, but when I find myself being the ringmaster, clown, trapeze artist, lion tamer, and road crew for a performance in the most bizarre circus I’ve ever encountered…things are bound to be swiftly re-prioritised.

I have moved house. Again.

We only lived in the first house on George’s western edge for something short of two years. Nary a thing was done to improve or beautify it because life was busy throwing lemons at me, and I had neither the time nor the inclination to make lemonade. Margheritas would have been better, mind you.

During a shaky 2017, every effort to make a living was met with a figurative, “Are you fucking nuts?”
2018 could only be better, right?

WRONG.

Cheeses Crackers, I was >this< close to being sent to the funny farm. My teenage child hit by cancer. A family crisis of note. Upheaval. Financial chaos. And the realisation that this circus ringmaster was about to become the effing tent pole too.

In July, I sold what had been an increasingly sad house. Every room was a reminder of a plan gone wrong or blocked at every turn. The berzerk spirits of the first six months of 2018 wandered through every window, door, and room.

I shifted the newly-constituted household to a more tranquil area, close to the mountains, alongside a chattering stream. The area is alive with fascinating birds, marauding monkeys, bandit baboons, a view that never ceases to amaze. There is tranquillity, inspiration, a healing.

Oddly enough, my new home is actually what I envisioned after I left Joziburg™, but which was thwarted by pressure that I mistook for care and concern. That is past now, but I will not allow myself to be fooled again.

The rest of the year—and next year—promises to dish up more challenges, but I anticipate a happier, more focused period, with fewer negative distractions and influences.

Where’s dem lemons now?