It's not remembering that gets to me. Not being able to piece together how I got here, pushing 40, wife and mother of two. It must have been a slow accumulation but every now and then, I catch myself as if waking up from a dream to wonder, startled, where did the years go?

One moment, the potential was there to be extraordinary; the next, with the driftwood of time behind you, you realise that you're not going to leave behind anything special.

People say, don't be absurd, look at your kids. It's usually people without kids who say this. You can't take credit (or blame??) for your children. Every day I realise how separate they are from me. And they don't roll back time in any case.

Who am I?