I spent hours and hours rejigging the blog design (again). Hours making sidebar buttons, trawling through free font design websites, hanging out with photoshop software that I still don't understand and can't use properly. It hasn't looked how I wanted it to, without ever quite knowing what I want, for a very long time, which I am sure interests precisely no-one. I had a revelation at around 2 in the morning. 1) I desperately needed to go to bed and 2) I also needed three little dots under the blog title. After that, the angels sang.
I checked it out in Chrome and on my iPad and a borrowed phone (mine died but had three weeks left in its warranty, hallelujah, so I'll get a replacement soon) and it looked exactly how I wanted it to. It looks shit in Internet Explorer though, so if you're still using that please stop it. It's not good for you, and it makes my son cry. I have no idea whether it's doing what I want in any other web browser, but what I don't know won't hurt me. I'll pretend it's perfect and we can all move forward from there.
These last 12 months have been the year of chasing my tail. Horrible, nasty, sad old year and I am not sorry it is about to come to an end. In four days it is the anniversary of my mother's death, and the consequences of so much crap involved in and around that event sucked the life out of me for a while. I am not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't this internal wasteland. Dry, arid, lifeless. But rain always comes, eventually, unless you happen to live in a few spots in the middle of the Atacama desert, which nothing actually does, because no water etc., and I am so grateful to see those metaphorical rain clouds start to arrive. The real life ones can bugger off though. Sick of those.
Those three dots? The green one is faith, the yellow hope, and the pink love. It's sickly puke-your-guts-out bourgeoisie indulgence, I know. I embrace my inner bourgeoise. Not really, but if I have to put up with her then you can too. They are there to remind me that all the rest of it, the houses we live in, the jobs we do, the pain we suffer, the books we read, the music we write, the philosophies we hold, the injustice we rail against, happy days and very sad ones, none of it means bugger all in the end. What we do in these teeny tiny little lives of ours is worthless compared to why we do it.
Also, they look pretty.