In March we'll have lived here for four years and yet I still refer to this place as "our new house". I love the house, I like the area and yet I haven't settled in. A lot of it is just life happening that meant for the first two years of being here we didn't have time to get used to it. In fact being here made us a little resentful as it's out on a limb a little bit and it seems a faff to get away (which was one of the things that attracted us to it in the first place).
That's why lots of my hopes fell by the wayside. There was time, here and there, but there was no optimistic new start, it was all backs to the wall and even though that's now over it's been hard to not look outside, far beyond the town to find things to make us happy. It's a weird kind of constraint, like I've been trapped in a lovely, well equipped prison, a place where I have all the time I need but none of the motivation I desire.
I need to dream small. On the plus side I charged the Kindle and read for an hour or so yesterday. It was a book I'd started reading months ago, I picked up where I left off and was surprised at how much I remembered of the tale, so I must have been taking it in. And it was a no spend day, I put a fiver into the Q box and did some decluttering - magazines are now on the "not shopping" list.