I wake I am stuck. Stuck in my throat. I am waiting for an ENT appointment on Monday as I can still feel the plastic of the coffee sachet in the back of my throat. I coughed up some small grainy particles of black. I think it is there, I feel it, its not psychosomatic. If it is psychosomatic I have a good imagination. It is is not, I want it removed. Its hard to relax, to concentrate, to focus on anything other than the neck and throat area of my body. I swallow and swallow and swallow and it does not feel right. When I swallow I feel something obstructing the passage into my body. I am annoyed that something so small, that such a silly accident can cause me such anxiety, such distress. I am stuck. I am stuck.
I opened up this computer to find a cure for the thoughts in my mind. If I try and order them, empty the thoughts try and make feelings into concrete language. If I form words and sentences and passages then I may forget this niggling suffering. Monday seems like a year away, far too long to be patient, to have to wait.
The washing machine churns away in the background. The sun’s light is falling on the side of my face, it is warm. The sky is blue. A picnic with Naoise and his friends is planned today. We will dip our feet in the river, pick bilberries. I am wearing a white top maybe I will change it to save the colour from the blue juice of the blilberries.
I can hear the birds in the back, the door to the yard is flung open. I hope maybe that the fledglings will visit, they bring me such joy.
Do they come when I chirp, when I try to mimic their calls or have I imagined this?
What is imagined and what is real?
Me and Naoise watched Jurassic Park when he got home from football school. He loved the bit where the baby dinosaur hatched from the egg. Later I put away the screens and we managed an evening of games and reading and moving through routines. He has become even more strident and stubborn and rebellious recently. Maybe its a six thing. So much assertiveness. Its depressing the amount of ignoring that I have to do, yet its the only thing that works. My parenting seems so weak and futile, he always seems to be wanting to run in the opposite direction from me.
The house is a crazy mess again, I struggle to find the energy to maintain the caos. Patrick is totally out of action with his bandaged finger. I cannot find order out of this chaotic domestic space. Its impossible to keep a tinyhouse brimming with stuff sorted. I need to get rid of more. Declutter, declutter.
The sensation of plastic object re-enters my mouth and throat, for a few moments, a few paragraphs I forgot, I distracted myself. The children will keep my mind occupied, they are just as much a tonic as this. If only I could swallow a sentence of words to remove the obstruction, to fix it right now, I need to be fixed.
I forgot to set the buzzer on the oven clock but it is 9:03 time to move on from this place.