Happiness writes a blank page.

I have been very quiet in my little corner of the world lately.

This blog has mostly been used as therapy for me as I grieved, got divorced and ran a little bit in between. Now I have put in the hard yards and landed on planet Content and i find my mind empty of blogging content. When i do go jogging, I usually stop to pick flowers like these to put around the house.





I guess i am also somewhat distracted by the small being growing in my heart shaped uterus. There is not much to say about this except for the fact that I am gaga over this child already and watching Welsh whisper to my belly late at night makes me feel things i have never felt before.




This is boring for other people to read because the joy that exists within our bubble is cringe worthy to the general public. This photo was taken at a music festival by the way. The baby preferred the Welsh and irish music which is both alarming and charming. Or else it was squirming around to try and jam its tiny fingers in its tiny ears.

Yesterday, i visited Dylan Thomas's boathouse where he did the majority of his writing during the last years of his life.



It was stunning visually and lent itself seamlessly to his prose about the landscape and surrounding area. The thing is, he was a chronic alcoholic and died at 39 from alcohol related issues. It reminds me of when i saw Bret Easton Ellis speak about having to have fucked up shit happen to you in order to be a powerful writer. (By the way Easton is on our boys name list. See! Welsh is the most amazing man EVER that he would let me name our first born after the man I wish I was married to.)

So what does that leave me with readers?

I suppose we shall float around in no mans land until the new blogging direction reveals itself. In the meantime, let's just have a look at the sight that greeted me outside my door yesterday afternoon