7:05 am Everything was white, I had a miscarriage, Everything was white, I had a miscarriage in my dream, Everything was white, But although it was only a dream it felt very real, Everything was white, I could feel the physical pain of the miscarriage, Everything was white, In some cultures white is the colour
6.57 am The playground A high black perimeter fence encloses the tarmac of the playground that is reached by short steep stone steps. If you have a pram with you its almost impossible to access, you either have to leave the pram at the bottom of the steps or get someone to help you carry
6.10am The book by Rebecca Solnit A Field Guide To Getting Lost arrives as a thud through the door. I read the first chapter and find this quote by Virginia Woolf, from To the Lighthouse. It was about a mother and wife at the end of the day. For now she need not think about anybody.
6.20 am Last night (28/01/15) Blue electric light flashes at the skylights. I am reading to both children, a funny book of Syd’s choice about a family of abominable snowmen. The children are like the storm. Syd cannot settle and keeps farting and jumping up and making Naoise giggle and resting his head a little
6.45 am Naoise favourite uniform is tumble drying in the washer. He is very fussy about jumpers and tops and how socks are put on. There must be “no crumpled sock”. Some jumpers are a little too big others too small, it has to be just right. His fussiness is a real challenge to my
6.10am What to write. Gas fire on, washing machine chugging. Laundry draped against hot radiator. Cars passing. The cars woke me, I can now sense the time dependent on its flow. Humans are habitual. Syd is better, least better enough to go back to school. His test results came back and thankfully no meningitus virus
7.27 am Its much too late to be attempting to write this, should be laying the breakfast table, getting dressed, getting the children up. There is very little time to find to be creative before the school run, the timeframe is tiny. The sore throat that I had when I first woke up has dissipated.
6.30 am Don’t want to be up writing this, want to be back in bed. Sunday is a day of rest. Feeling the weight of responsibility of this project. It needs constant feeding. Constant maintenance. I’ll try, I’ll try, but right now its pissing me off. I want to be back in bed. When I
Women have felt insane when cleaving to the truth of our experience. Our future depends on the sanity of each of us, and we have a profound stake, beyond the personal, in the project of describing our reality as candidly and fully as we can to each other. Adrienne Rich, On Lies, Secrets and Silence,
6:10 am Strategies of feminist motherhood in visual culture and in life set out to embarrass – to get in the way of – restrictive traditional taboos, so that maternal qualities such as caring, empathy and sacrifice are displaced, no longer kept solely in the private realm, assigned to their ‘proper place.’ So that we
