Five days after Christmas, and I've barely moved. It's utterly fantastic to be home, surrounded by family and dogs and food and warmth and entertainment and company and music and laughter. I have found to my joy that being home is even better than the anticipation of coming home. It's been eight months since I've been home and I am never ever leaving it that long again. Even though, looking around, it feels like I've never left, at the same time I feel that I've missed so much.
And, leaving the late night schmaltz behind for a moment, the latest news in the world of Sharon is that I managed to fall down some stairs yesterday, while shopping with my sister. I got bored in a shop where Louise's friend was flirting with the shop assistant, and wandered off on my own in search of adventure. Instead, I launched myself off some steps and twisted my knee and ankle. I also landed on my make up mirror, smashing it to pieces. I am now looking forward to the next seven years, which everyone tells me will now be filled with bad luck, as if falling down some stairs wasn't bad enough.
And then the bus that I was getting home today caught fire. I am not joking. Roll on the next 2554 days.
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