Dust wars

7:45 am

Much later than usual, the kettle is on, Naoise snuggly asleep in bed, its almost light outside.

Tea made. Beside me the metal pot, a hex bug spider in orange, the , oven gloves, butter dish, a green vase full  of red roses and pussy willow, a card depicting three saints leant against it, paper bag containing my great aunties birthday card, she will be 99 this week.

Sip of tea and the awakening of the gas fire pushing through heat, no longer flaming, Patrick removed the dust that was causing the flames.

I am writing about the now but the images I post are about the near past…..is this problematic ? Its a little confusing ? I wonder if it may make more sense to write at night so the image and the words sit more harmoniously together. The thought and the time frame don’t necessarily work as one.


I am tired, I look at the pixel pig upside down on the round table, his eyes watching me. I started a little drawing using Naoise new fine liner pens, motifs of pregnant women. Sydney returns today, I will then be at peace. I have felt so stressed the last two. Stress building up in my shoulders, I have felt less like walking out, I have felt like creeping back to the womb. Hiding in there. Try to forget that he is not here. He will be back by four, he will be home. The tension will then dissipate, and I will be back to juggling two boys again.


The house is starting to look tidier. I spent a hellish day sorting, clearing, folding, putting away, removing dust, mold, throwing out welcoming the new year with house work. The house has got the better of me. Mold grows everywhere, a combination of living by a river, an old house and drying clothes on the radiator. Mold, get in your lung mold. The weather has turned all moldy, it is so so wet, rainy and grey. I draw the curtains, it is all a fog, icy fog. Orange street lights poking out from within. Must have been colder in the night as the car windscreen is covered in ice. Some cars passing.


Sorting my bedroom I found photographs of my mum of me and Sydney that had slipped behind the dresser. I found a found about writing and drawing. I found a white double sheet covered in Naoise drawings. Me and him made this at the start of the summer. I lay it out to cover the bed. There is a picture of all our family, Me, Patrick (with beard), Syd, Naoise and our cat Frida Kahlo, who sadly died over the holidays. She now sits on the bookshelf, dust in a box. Dust in a box.


Dust bread, I remember the dust bread that I made. Loaves baked from flour and dust from our hoover. I also experimented with making pregnant women and children. I was interested in the rise in the oven, the rise of the loaf. “Oh higher- riser, my little loaf” plath calls in her poem “you’re”. I remember the musical adaptation of this poem that me and Syd made.

The oven buzzer sounds.

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