But it is kind of inconsiderate of me isn't it? Taking up precious bandwidth and user names that someone else might want.

I might set up a notify list; that way when I move I take everyone who actually enjoys reading what I write with me. But if I do get the desire to move, it will be because I would prefer to start anew.

Strange.

***

My room is dark and cozy. Sophie Ellis Baxtor sings her oddly composed songs. I breathe in lavender, rose geranium and orange scented air.

I used to hate the smell of rose-geranium. It was, too sweet, too sickly, I preferred the harsh herb medicinal odour of rosemary. These days, I can't stand the rosemary. It makes me physically sick.

***

I'm quiet. My emotions are not. Stress has turned me into a beast that cannot be contained. My mother warned me to keep it under control. But no I can't. The Beau has slunk off once too many times, bleeding badly enough so much that he limps away and hides in his cavern. But my poison is in his veins. He will slink back for more.

***

Too many titles entitled "Stress" and all its separate components distilled into the essence of someone unable to seize control of her life.