Not as good as Sense and Sensibility, I grant you, but life ain't a novel and never will be. Drought refers to the lack of writing over the recent weeks and depression refers to intended house moving (hopefully within the next two weeks. fingers hugely crossed.)
The road to Leeds isn't a smooth one and has been strewn with mishap and complication. It's no-one's fault, really, just a mixture of inexperience and the irritating fact that you have to prove you are yourself and live where you say you do via extensive (and often expensive) ID checks (despite never having left the country, not being in debt and having been with the same bank for over ten years) but now I'm rambling and being bitter, so best stop. Everything will hopefully be sorted within a few days though, here's to better news next week!
In less glum news, on to my writing drought. Having done all I can physically do in preparation for possible flat acquisition, I'm turning back to the NaNoWriMo I left off all those months ago and, all being well, draft two should begin this very night. I miss writing so much, it makes me feel like I'm not completely worthless and not, drone-like, going through the motions of life, waiting for an inevitable and ever-approaching death.