Since choking on a small piece of plastic covered foil coffee wrapper I have been imagining it still stuck. I am stuck. Literally stuck in my throat. Swallowing again and again. Feeling this sensation of stuck plastic in my adams apple. I wake each morning and have a panic attack. I swallow and swallow. I try to be sick. I replay the choking again and again.
I thought that swallowing words would help. Swallowing my anxieties. I went for a walk, the sensation continued. I spoke to my mum. She made me feel calm, suggested I go back to the GP again if the symptoms don’t go away. Maybe I need to see a specialist. She is kind. She always listens and is patient and understanding, I cannot imagine a world without mum. Without being able to pick up the phone and talk to her. I won’t imagine this world.
It is a wet day. Naoise is at football school. He was slow to get up but once awake couldn’t wait to be out the door. He told me to go, he would give his friend the spare pair of shorts. He would sort it out. I watched him just for a while, kicking the ball, trying to kick it in the net. He is a happy soul, I am glad that he is happy to let me go and does not cling. We have been clung to each other each day now for three weeks.
I am getting used to the flow of the holidays some planned days some unscheduled. Waking up late, not rushing. Not worrying about getting to school on time. No time table. Time that drags and spills and grows. Our time. Unstructured. Unscheduled. Un. Un. Un.
I have let go of this project. By let go I mean its not always possible or desirable to write each day. Its harder over the school holidays. Its better not to feel the pressure of this. Better for it to be a delight than a chore. So I have failed. I scheduled in failing. By failing, I mean that I haven’t written every day as I had set out to do. I have allowed myself a break. I needed to just stop analysing and naval gazing I needed to just gaze at my children. I needed to stop feeling the need to record and document everything. I needed to withdraw. I still am uncertain I want to share. I am a snail drawing back into a shell.
Small incidents. Small happenings, make this mundane life. Make this simple life. Beautiful.
A little fledgling possibly a sparrow or a thrush has taken to visiting my yard. It likes to eat oat cakes. Crumbled oat cakes. It hops around on its spindly legs. It cheeps and calls to be fed. It balances on the washing line, the jasmine, the bay. It looks at me and Naoise by cocking its head to one side.
Naoise delighted in feeding it and laughed at it balancing precariously on the plastic rope of the washing line. Beep beep beep beep. The oven buzzer sounds fifteen minutes gone. I must attempt a job application. I need to be responsible. I need to catch up with the others. Get back to paid work. Get out of this domestic meaningless sludge of a life. I have meaning. I have purpose. I have a function beyond these walls.