7.35am (awake since 6.45am up since 7am)
Syd’s alarm woke me, I had planned to lie in until 8am. Mum is upstairs, she stayed overnight. I like having my mum around, she brings with her a peaceful calm, dishes magically get washed and the children play happily.
What is there to say the day after an eclipse. The sky is mainly dull, some blue fighting between. Its still cold, I wish it were warmer. I have noticed that the blossom is beginning to come out. Spring seems so slow, not at all springy. The road is busy, the cars travel much faster than the suggested thirty miles per hour. Its so dangerous. The butcher of Todmorden got killed this week. He was killed by two young joy riders. His brother has kept the shop open all week and flowers are tied to the metal railings near the pedestrian crossing where he fell. So sad, such a tragedy.
Mum is up, I made her a coffee, she hasn’t slept, she says that when you get old you don’t sleep. I don’t look forward to getting old. Its hard to concentrate on writing this, although she is being very respectful and quiet and not interrupting me, she is here rummaging in her handbag, puffing up pillows, shuffling about. Ah now she is reading, much better, less fidgeting. I wonder what it is she is reading, she has always read ferociously. Sipping her coffee. I top up mine its luke warm, I like mine hot.
Mum asks me if I am writing a book, I tell her that its a blog….
Mum: A bog?
Me: No a blog, its an online diary.
I tell her that maybe one day it might become a book.
I am tired because I drank too much red wine last night. I am also tired because Patrick woke me up as he stumbled drunk up the stairs, more heard of elephants than light footed fairy.
I am pinching myself because I also ate chocolate biscuits and fattening curry and walnuts and sticky toffee pudding. I just lost it, lost all control, I greedily ate. I have been weighing myself everyday since buying the cheap scales from Lidls. I am not sure if this is a good or bad idea. I want to monitor my progress, see how I shift the weight, or put it on, but maybe it will just make me obsessive. I have never kept scales in the house. Its good though, its a positive move. I am trying to make my self well, make myself strong, loose weight so that I can move with ease and wear the clothes that I would like to. I still have my size 12 wardrobe under the bed, folded away in a blue suitcase. After I had Syd I was a size 12, where did it all fall apart ? I just lost touch with me and my body, and now I am reclaiming me because life flies by, you have to catch it.
Under the bed there are rolls of canvas, oil paintings on canvas gathering dust and ruining. I want to paint again. I will get there. I made some drawings this week, just a few tentative marks but least I began. The writing seems to have taken over, that wasn’t my intention, I had wanted to make art and to write. Drawing, marks, words, not just words. Words alone do not satisfy me.
Mum turns the page of her book. The sky is now all grey, no blue at all.
Naoise had wanted to join beavers so he could run around with his friends on a friday evening, sadly we he was disappointed as all the places had been taken. Sadly they were full. He will have to wait. Three other children were also turned away, all friends form his school, so we played a while on the waste land in the centre of the town.
The children found burnt sticks and pretended to be warriors. I fought them, I moaned and groaned and pretended to die, and was resurrected many times only to die again. Naoise didn’t seem interested in the fight, instead he drew with the burnt stick on the rock, he made beautiful marks. I wished that I had taken a picture, maybe I will manage today if the charcoal is still there that is. Perhaps the morning dew washed it away.
The buzzer beeps. Mum is wondering why the buzzer is sounding. I tell her that it is the oven buzzer sounding that is used to mark out the passing of thirty minutes time. The thirty minutes that I gave myself to write this. She is now amused and is giggling.