16.54pm (writing sat on the sofa drinking tea munching short bread biscuits all dark, very dark) The washing machine is chugging. I am loosing faith in this project. What did I think that I would achieve by writing every day for a year? I have achieved an even messier house and a lot of words
16.46pm ( sat at the table) Syd at home unwell. P upstairs working from home. N sitting on the sofa playing on iPad. Me writing on this screen. Can’t be bothered with this anymore. I am bored of my own voice. Bored of recording how challenging parenting can be. It was boring when Naoise wouldn’t
13.44pm (at home sat on the sofa) The sound of the radiator humming out its heat. My bottom sinks into the cushion of the leather soda. Cars and lorries and buses on the road. The constant slowing and moving off. The temporary traffic light, amber, red, amber, green. Stop. Start. Syd is upstairs in bed,
Lying in bed next to Naoise went home in a taxi. Not found time to write. Woke up with bad handover. Took paracetamol with cocodamol. Prepare for mother stories readings. Friends birthday meal. Nothing to say now. Wind. Glad to be in bed.
1.02 pm (on the sofa in the front room ) Its really tomorrow which makes this post obsolete. But artists break rules. Like beginning a sentence with but. Its late I have been out with patrick. I have drunk too much. When you drink ,you think that what you have to say is
Began another heavy period. Began be-frienders training, but cannot talk about it as everything confidential. Gave others lift to the sure start centre in halifax. Felt like a community taxi service. Thats ok, its good to feel needed and useful. Must try not to engage my brain too much. Conversations about semantics perhaps not
8.29am (sat on the sofa in the front room) I am not getting up today, I am exhausted and have a sore throat. I am not getting up today, Naoise is asleep and I am going to leave him to sleep as he was very sick last night. He was sick over the mattress, the
11.01am (at my desk in the studio) Playing with the cheap black and white copies of my blog posts. Hanging them on a line of string with small clothes peg paper clips. It looks ok, it suggests the domestic. It will do. I have to make do. Ideally it would be colour copies, or poster
16.58pm ( sitting at the table in the front room) Naoise is watching How to train your dragon. P is chopping onions to make lentil dhal. There are men on the train track, working by flood light, chopping trees and shifting soil with a digger. The train track men woke me around five this morning. I
