Sofa selfie

6.10 am

The lights from the car headlights dance across the corner of the bedroom. Been awake since 5am. Keep waking early, but its ok. I wake and all I can think about is writing, what will be the first sentence, the opening. I wake, I get up, I put on my onesy, I go downstairs, I boil the kettle, I switch the lights on in the corners of the front room, I make the breakfast, take the kids to school, walk up the Pexwood Road, write or make art or do domestic work, collect Naoise from school, do domestic work, make tea, wash up, get the children to bed, sleep. Each day is pretty much identical to the previous, albeit the weather, and what is shared by family and friends. Conversations grabbed at the school gates with parents, with the lollypop man, studio friends, and text messages to my mum


My period was so so heavy yesterday. Bleeding, all is a red river. I feel drained and exhausted. I sit here on the sofa writing with the computer on my lap, the radiator on, the blanket tucked over my legs. It is dark, the cars momentum and frequency on the road quickens. Time passes. I look at the two guitars hanging on the wall, one red, one wood coloured, both Syd’s. Syd is growing at an extraordinary rate, his shoulders almost reach mine. He will soon be taller than me. He is a beautiful boy becoming a man, full of love and hate and misunderstood’s, perfectly teenage in ever way.

I am getting desperate about the bedtime routine, despite my efforts each evening to change the course of events, the same unfolds. I get Naoise bathed early, in fact last night he got himself washed, dried and in his pyjamas himself. “I am growing up”, he proudly asserted. He just will not calm in the evening, he gets a second wind, gets all energetic, no banana, no warm milk, no bath, no amount of books will lull him.

Two boys in my bed last night, no room for a woman too, I retreat once they are both asleep. Syd is unwell, a virus thing has triggered off his asthma and he looks dreadfully pale.

Completed the tax return, felt momentarily triumphant. Just pleased to make some space in my head for creative things. Next to the PhD proposal. I have to at least attempt it. I seem to be rubbish at meeting any deadlines. I have good intentions, I have the knowledge, I just, I just. You can, you can.

I will walk the Pexwood Road again today, I will stop momentarily at the line with the black pegs that swings in front of Naoise school in the valley. I will walk all the way to the top road, stand and film again for one minute. I will rush back down the hill through the two fields, past the pond, past the ladder in the tree, along the canal path, and home to work. To work.

The happiest part of the walk yesterday was a herron that rose up in front of me from the pond. I had startled it. The herron, majestical, dinosaur, hunting bird. I had disturbed its fishing. There are not many birds about, I always look forward to the return of the swallow, its wing brings hope, and spring and light and warmer days. There are crows and blackbirds, and bluetits, wrens, robbins and sparrows that swoop in gangs, they sing and call from within the hedge rows, the rose hips and gorse and brown heather that surrounds.

Patrick has purchased a selfie stick, a small tripod and a remote control that activates the shutter on his camera, so much fun we had playing with these. Me and Naoise and Patrick made some sofa selfies, we posed, Patrick held the camera on the stick way above our heads and Naoise clicked the remote.


The buzzer on the oven sounds 30 minutes gone.



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