I really shouldn't...

...write when I'm tired. But I can't help it. I've been working on my Irish women article for an actual magazine for a while now. I've had some inspiration and have been pootling merrily along, trying not to completely plagerise the books I've been using and then it hits me.

This article is probably rubbish.

The little demon of doubt comes into my head and goes "but should you just focus on this area? Won't it be rubbish if you go on? How can you go on? Aren't you jumping from paragraph to paragraph? Call yourself an English teacher with THAT grammar? Oooh, do you think someone will sue you for this article? Are you ripping off someone else's ideas?" (Actually- the answer to the last two is no.)

*Head/desk*

And then, I'm not helping myself by realising that if you go on Ravelry and look up 'yarn', the first listings of a particular type are ones available for trade/sell. Let's just say I'm obviously helping an economy somewhere with that one.

I should go to bed. Even the cat is snoring.

Looking Ahead

So, I've entered the last full week of the summer holidays and, as much as I have enjoyed the break and fully relaxed, I'm feeling ready for the next few months. I think this is because I'm entering my third year of teaching. I'm also entering it with some ideas for where I plan to be this time next year.

I'm spending this week tying up a few loose ends, such as The Hardest Article That Was Ever Written, which I intend to finish by the time I go back next Thursday. The deadline is the third week of September, but I want to be done so that I can focus on school. Despite the fact that it's a subject I'm passionate about, it's really, really hard to write. Sigh.

I'm also planning on sewing this week- I've promised my aunt a cushion cover and Jan has helped me cut out the fabric for my first skirt, so please keep fingers and toes crossed!

I'm also feeling positive, as I love autumn. I'm looking forward to wooly tights, gloves, getting out my cookery books for comfort food, smoky air, fireworks and hot chocolate. I planted some late cropping peas, which should be ready late autumn and my baking mojo will come back.

It's a good feeling.

What a week

This week has been a bit mad, so I'm going to break it down.

Good things:

- The family came down for five days and we had a jolly time. I also met my mum's dog, Sam, who is actually OK for a canine. However, am still fully a cat person if I may say so (which I can, because it's my blog...!)

- Em brought down the entire box set of Buffy. Result!

- I discovered that I am happy just knitting 'plain' socks, as I like the ways the colours work. What's the point in distracting myself further?

- I made a pair of respectable looking cushion covers- my one sewing lesson so far has paid dividends

- I have fully come off my meds and finished my CBT. Hurrah!

Bad bits:

- I fell in the middle of Brighton, whilst wearing a skirt. Thankfully, a gaggle of Spanish students came to my aid. I may have accidentally flashed my pants. Oops. I have been hobbling round in pain since Friday, but it's getting better. It's amazing how many muscles hurt.

- I am feeling that I am becoming increasingly anti-social. I'm not sure why, but I find it hard to be around people at the moment. I'm forcing myself into social situations, but I'm also fighting the instinct to curl up and hide.

- There's not long left of the holidays :(

Excitement in an envelope

I love getting post. So much so, that I think I do a lot of my shopping online just to get some mail when I get home. Sad, I know.

However, on Saturday, I got a rather unusual piece of mail. When I was in Ireland, I searched in vain for information about my great grandfather and his activities. A lady at Cork City Gaol suggested that I write to the local paper with information. I did so and forgot all about it.

Until Saturday. When I got home from having my hair cut, I noticed an airmail letter with handwriting I didn't recognise. The handwriting was that of an older person. Then I saw that the stamp was Irish. Confused, I opened it.

The letter was from a man who lives in the same village as my family and with the same surname. He talks about my great-great grandfather smoking outside the dispensary on a summer's evening as an old man and about how my great-grandfather may have had six daughters (he did). He apologised for his vague memories and wrote his mobile number on the letter.

I wrote back, asking questions. I find the whole thing very, very exciting. I hope that he writes back, as I'd begun to despair over the lack of information I was finding. I'm reading lots and lots about the Irish fight for Independence, but I want to connect it to what I already know.

I hope he writes back...