The beginning of my middle.

I am writing from the beginning of my middle.

A more organised person would have started with a plan, an intention or a neatly defined purpose. At the very least it would probably have been sensible to have some experience of reading blogs so I might know what belongs in one. Possibly, my children are studying the stylistic nuance of this genre at school. Too late to ask them now.

Hello, I’m Louise. Married, three children, and a brain like a basket full of kittens (snakelets?). I create things to anchor myself. Alongside that, I’m learning, incredibly slowly, how to run an art business. I’m one week shy of my 45th birthday and am susceptible to ascribing most of my personality to perimenopausal symptoms. 

I try to live with a ‘done is better than perfect’ attitude but, in reality, I rarely complete more than 90% of any given task. I feel a curious mix of self consciousness about my art alongside a burgeoning sense of not giving a fuck (hormone levels dependent, obviously). For years I tried to keep my drawing as anonymous as possible. I finally put my face on Instagram a few months ago. I found the whole thing surprisingly exposing and promptly disappeared. Starting an online blog where I have zero audience seemed the obvious next step… 

I’m at the beginning of my middle and I’m facing some profoundly difficult changes. There's probably a lot I should be picking through with a therapist. Instead, I’ve picked up my pen (keyboard), taken up walking (given myself a knee injury) and baked various delights out of bread dough. I wonder what comes next. I wonder how much writing and baking will be needed to carry me through it? Will my knee woman up or am I marching myself towards replacement surgery even as I walk to keep my snakelets peaceful? Who knows. 

Louise x