How I nearly lost my inner Pollyanna for good....
They say what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger; certainly three months of quaffing a bottle of Shiraz each night may well have toughened up my liver in the same way the past three months have tested my Pollyanna -like optimism and belief that things will always turn out OK in the end. The symbiotic and simultaneous pan-continental misery and despair that has characterised mine and DH's lives during this time -- certainly our run of bad luck seemed to be overextended -- left us at times wondering if we were the unfortunate recipients of a hex of some sort. In isolation of course most of these situations could have been rationalised, but when heaped on top of each other they became unmanageable and I spent several weeks bemoaning the turn my life was taking, convinced in my darkest moments that I would never see DH again and was sentenced to a life as a single mother of five. It of course all started with- the house of horrors which was hovel-house; DH ...