I am so sick and tired of sorting and tidying and throwing away. A fly zzzzzz’s around the front room. I am trying to sort out the house. I have just found three large bags of boys clothes 9-10, 10-11, 11-12. How on earth can I even envisage storing these in this slice of a cake house, there is barely room to move with just our bodies. Its either a friend or the charity shop. The seven year age gap is not that practical when it comes to hand me downs.
Little Naoise is sleeping on his bed, fully clothed. He had yet another tantrum when I refused to let him watch more than half and hour of TV. Its not too surprising that he has fallen asleep. Its hot. He hardly ate any dinner. Apparently he does not like fish fingers and peas any more. To me and Syd’s horror he ate a tomato sauce filled white roll, quite disgusting. He then requested some cheese but did not eat that as he was too busy having a tantrum.
My back aches and aches. I lifted a box of broken ceramic garden pots. I hope that its just one of those back aches that you get when you are stressed out.
I don’t have any solutions to the rent increase at the studio. I am realising that having a studio is probably not financially possible for me. I threw out lots of old notes and magazines today, that felt good. Its hard to get rid of things. Artists cling hold of possessions and information that may come in handy one day.
I will become a kitchen table artist again. I cannot afford to be a painter the materials are too expensive. I cannot afford to be an artist. I have had this realisation too slowly. I have eaten too many chocolate bars out of comfort. You cannot control life, especially when you have limited means. I glanced at a minimum wage job advertised at the co-op. I need to find out about it. I could manage to do 20 hours a weeks work. If I don’t continue with a studio then the money I save could at least fund some of Syd’s guitar lessons. He is far more talented than me, better to invest in his creativity.
I have failed. I have failed miserably, and now I am on panic mode of how to clear enough space in this tiny house to house art. Is it even art? Art that no one wants, that no one requires, that no one desires. That confronts and unsettles. Thats all well and good but why make more of it to just store it. I cannot afford the time nor the money to show the work, market the work, make the work have value, so consequently it has no value. Like myself it is redundant.
I shouldn’t even be getting stressed about all this right now, I should be slowly and methodically getting ready to enjoy the summer holidays. Time speeds past. It does not wait for me. I am not good at managing the house. I am not good at managing the children. I am so exhausted with Naoise refusing to do as he is told, every little tiny thing has become a battle. My parenting perhaps is poor. I am loosing my patience for life.
The buzzer sounds 15 minutes.