7.35am (up since 7am)
Where does time go? The weeks fly. I never achieve the amount of work that I would like. A step into the void again with the Easter holidays coming at the end of next week. I’m sure that I used to look forward to the school holidays, now they seem to fill me with absolute dread. I know that any of the work that I am involved in will be brushed aside by care work. Oh sisyphean, sisyphean. Oh lamentation, lamentation. Songs of sorrow. Mummy moaning, on and on and on. I bore myself.
Syd interrupts: I need to hand my options form in today, I have made up my mind, I need to hand it in now, or else my subjects will get full up.(I have never heard such rubbish!)
Me: Why don’t you get yourself some breakfast.
Syd: No I wanted you to get me some.
This is impossible, I will try and write again a little later, as five minutes is not enough to calm my frustrations, yes this is therapeutic and it is art. Marking down the feelings goes some way to straightening out thoughts in my mind and perhaps in the process art will happen. Or maybe this isn’t art and its just a rant.
10.20am (after the school run, a run and a shower)
Fog. No vision. Fog, just the stone walls and the near. Dew on spindly grass. Fox gloves beginning to emerge from cracks in stones.
I am so annoyed by the education that is being offered to my son. He is selecting his options. He has to decide between Mr Gove’s aspirational Baccalaureate and another system that does not allow for multiple science options, this is totally crazy. So much contradictory information and advice. Seems like a two teer system has been adopted by his school and arts subjects are not encouraged. Arts are being completely undervalued. I am angry. I am frustrated, this education system is not serving the needs of my son or others. It does quite literally make me want to scream. Is it not possible to be scientific and creative? Leonardo da Vinci seemed to manage.
Syd is difficult and moody and stubborn, his choices swayed by what his friends are doing as opposed to any practical or consider choice. I really do not enjoy being a parent, its the most undervalued job of all. He thanks me for none of my advice and I don’t think he is even listening. Need to find a different approach. Need to try and at least get him to listen, to consider with care, not to be swayed by his peer group, maybe this is impossible. Maybe its all fine and I am worrying about nothing. I do care though, I keep telling him that when he snaps and snarls.
I keep thinking of the Slaves gig that me and Syd went too and the mosh pit and all that energy, youthful boys bouncing, pushing, sweating, climbing on top of each other. All of a boys energy, he takes it all. He needs constant feeding and constant reassurance and encouragement and he needs to let his hair down and so do I and does any of this really matter. Does it?
He is my Mantaray and I love him.
Beep, beep beep fifteen minutes gone.