Page 64 of Where Do We Go From Here?
Bottles of wine remaining: 7.
Actually, I’m not so sure about the facts and figures. They’re a bit Bridget Jonesey.
But I don’t know what else to write about. It seemed like keeping a journal would be a Good Thing To Do but other than the fact that things are pretty grim, there’s not much to tell. Sorry,diary.
Day Two
Inches of Snow: 12!
Food remaining: Loads.
Electricity: Yes!
Bottles of wine remaining: 5.
So,kerazeeeamounts of the white stuff. And it’s still snowing.
Last night I demolished a delicious bottle of Beaujolais from the bakery and watched Netflix all evening. Which initially helped (the wine, that is). It made the Guy Ritchie film I chose seem almost like fun. But after the fourth glass, the wine no longer helped because not only did I lose track of the plot, I fell asleep.
Missing the end of the film wasn’t that much of a big deal but what was sad is that I missed the cat. I’d put food out for him/her/it and turned everything in the room around so that I could watch Netflix and the bowl simultaneously. But the cat, being a cat, waited until I fell asleep and then swept in to gobble up the food. When I woke up it was past midnight and the dish was empty. Better luck today, hopefully.
Other than that, there’s absolutely nothing happening.
Oh, I nearly called Harry last night. I wonder, does that count as news?
I was eating my pasta and watching Sky News when I was suddenly overcome with a burst of love for him. It was so weird because it’s been ages since I’ve felt like that. I suppose it’s bound to happen, though. Twenty-five years, the father of my babies, feeling lonely, dying slowly in the middle of an Alpine snow drift, etc. Things are going to get emotional, I suppose.
But I do miss him. I will tell you and you alone this, DearJournal. And sometimes it does strike me as utter madness that this is where we have got to.
Day Three
Inches of snow: ‘I’m getting a bit scared’ levels of snow. Maybe 2 feet?
Food remaining: Lots.
Electricity: Yes (A miracle!).
Bottles of wine remaining: 3.
Cat sightings: 2.
Primary emotion: Cabin fever.
I think I might be going a bit doolally. And I don’t think I’ll get eaten by wolves after all. I suspect they’ll find me and say, ‘Ooh, look, she gnawed her own arm off through sheer boredom.’
I’ve watched every decent thing I can find on Netflix and am reduced to dubbed Spanish drama. And dubbing really does ruin everything, doesn’t it? On my TV at home I know how to switch it to Spanish with subtitles, which even though it’s kind of tiring due to all the reading, I prefer. But I can’t find any way to do that on my laptop. Maybe I’ll ask Todd. He’d know.
Other than Spanish Netflix, I’ve read three novels in four days, but I think I’ve already forgotten novels one and two. I’m reduced to pacing around the cabin like a lion in a cage (which makes me think about how that must feel when it’s for life. Poor lions! I hate zoos).
Anyway, I can’t stand it anymore. I’m heading out. Wish me luck!
Well, I didn’t get far, Dear Journal. The snow was above the tops of my boots and it sneaked in, crumbled down, and froze my shins. By the time I reached the main road, I’d had enough, so I turned back and promptly fell on my arse.
When I got home, Mittens (I’ve decided to call it Mittens, a great gender-neutral name if ever there was one) was there, peeping in through my window. I could almost hear it thinking,Where’s my food, human?
Of course it ran off the second it saw me (actually, morebouncedoff because of the snow), but I stomped some of the snow flat and put more food out so hopefully Mittens will be back.
Right now I’m drying my feet in front of the fire, which is bringing back a whole stock of memories of the kids when they were little. The first time Todd saw snow he was five. I remember asking him what he thought of it while we were thawing his feet by the fire, and he said, ‘It’s wery wery cold but wery wery lubbly, Mummy.’ My God, they were cute. What happened?
