Can’t concentrate


I can’t concentrate. I need too. I need to write an application, oh the bore of it.

Grey but warm summers day.

Naoise didnt want to go to school today. He kept saying I am not well enough to go to school today, my belly hurts, I have growing pains, my head hurst. Over and over and over again. I kept ignoring him over and over and over again. Consolation is not always the solution. He has to go to school. Thats the deal. Thats the routine. That is life. Thats our life. School often feels as if it is an interruption, or just a structure. I wish I felt happier about the contract. I don’t feel negative about the school. I don’t feel that enthusiastic about it either. Its just a thing that has to be done.

We read the book. I feel a ridiculous sense of achievement if a/ we have managed to read the book and b/ we have managed to actually get to school on time.

I am proud of my son he is all of those tacky things, my universe the centre of my heart, my world, my landscape. I told him this as I walked to school with him on my shoulders. As I spoke my words of love to him he hugged my neck, wrapped his heavy body around my shoulders. You don’t have to use words. You don’t have too.

A body against a body is probably the best way to say love. A hand hold. A help.

The washing machine is reaching its crescendo. I remove a pan lid and its glass that is making an awful din to the tune of the cycle.

Syd is in bed ill. The blind in his window is drawn shut. I bought his phone and iPad downstairs I want to make sure that he has a really good rest.

Watching screens is not resting,

This screen. This magic screen. We pour our hearts into it. A mouthpiece, a body. This screen that I talk too. Its an imaginary being. A friend. A place. A container. It contains, provides a scaffolding for thoughts. I don’t divulge everything that would be a confessional that would be a betrayal.

Chug chug goes the washer, and the cars pass and you cannot stop time. On friday me and Naoise watched a gypsy caravan drawn by two strong horses clip clop past the house. A lot of possessions in the back bulging out. The wooden decorative patterns of joyousness. The pattern of life slow. My house contains a lot of stuff. I need to let go of this stuff. Its good to carry little. To be if one needs able to fill only a gypsy caravan with the most important things.

There is no solution to this life…..but it is love, it is love that binds us and connects us and it is not just about me and my family. This isn’t a christian thing, a religious statement, a gender specific statement……I do yearn to be connected more than ever, Griselda and Bracha are right. I may not understand the martixial theory, I know I need to, I need to put the energy in to find out, do the research the donkey work. The books are on the shelf, they just need deciphering. Its ok though for now to remind myself that I always need to find and to have and to save some energy for others. Its vital to remain connected to those that I cherish and those that I have yet too find….

The chalk markings in the playground are gone, washed away by the weekend rain. Well not all quite gone, there are some left, the ones that were protected by the roof of the sky platform. The hawthorn blossom is fading, petals of white and pink are blowing off gnarly trees. The catkins are out and the lilac. All change, nothing every stays put. Children grow. Seasons come and go. I get older. The washing machine chugs around. This is it. This is it, it does not get any better than this. A mundane day with a structure. The cars pass, the spin gets more intense. The sun shines and hides.

The washer is beeping. The washer is sounding the end to my writing for today. Beep beep beep. It is as insistent as the oven buzzer. I need to tend to other things, try to make some changes, just play with some words and fill in that darn form woman. Wish me luck.



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