Rainy Monday

12.27am

The washing machine is working hard. Third cycle today, the sheets from Syds sleepover on Friday night. Had hoped to have a rest today, but that is not that realistic, there’s always a job to do. Its a wet day for washing, so the radiator is on, sending the damp from the drying clothes into the house. The rack is full, things dry slowly inside.

13thjulynaoisesnoozing

I am lonely. Perpetually lonely. Its not good to spend so much time alone. Cant be helped. I will desire aloneness once I have seven weeks of full time constant childcare. This is the cleaning calm before the hectic play of summer. The days will slip by.

I have cleaned the stairs and washed the kitchen floor. I have filled the car with bin bags and broken frames. Removed more dust and dirt. I am gaining some ground with the messy, chaotic house. The art took over and the results weren’t that great. I can never seem to be able to juggle all the different tasks. I haven’t been running on the hills lately, but then if you always run away from home, things soon become neglected. The house is looking better but my eyebrows have become werewolf.

The morning started with a minor operation on the top of my finger to remove the thorns that had become lodged there after the manic gardening session on the allotment. There does not seem much time to dream. Soon there will be dream time. Soon.

The washing machine is reaching its crescendo. Naoise went to school in his football trainers. All bright lucid green, not at all school uniform etiquette. Its the last week of term, I am sure he will get away with it. I never wore a uniform at primary school. All the rules and regulations always seem very farcical. He is only six. Do we really need all these rules and regulations. Do we really need all these tests and fences and barriers.

The teaching assistant that used to ignore me now smiles to greet me when we get to school. I was uncharitable about her. I am not that important. I am just the dropper off-er. I am just the hand that takes the child’s hand and leads him in. I am the maintainer, the project manager, the order-er, the making sure-er.

The washing machine is getting on my nerves beep beep beeping. Its insensient. Its as demanding as a toddler. Its as demanding as my Naoise. Wanting to be heard. Wanting my attention.

Its still wet. I need to make a trip to hebden to drop something off for patrick. Lots of silly boring meaningless jobs, that I would rather not be doing.

The buzzer on the oven clock sounds. My time in this space is up.

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