Before it gets light

6.07am (sat on the sofa sipping tea and writing)

Its dark, the sound of the river, birds waking, the train passing on the tracks behind the house the cars whooshing. I am still. Eyes adjusting to the electric light of the laptop.

Completed the washing up, hadn’t the energy to battle the boys with it last night. Patrick was out at a meeting, Syd was home lats, so the day was one of those days that go on forever. I began the washing up by first removing a large slug that had found its way onto the kitchen surface with a metal spatula  Slugs are so disgusting. What is the point of a slug? How do they find their way in. Spiders can make their home in my house, but slugs they are just YUKKKK.

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It felt so so long as I had woken at five in the morning. Woke a little later today 5.45am. Thats better. I feel more rested, despite the fact that Naoise woke me in the night telling me he had nightmares. I put my arm around his little warm body and he fell back to sleep.

My boys give me so much joy…….then they give me more joy. I became irritated with both of them, Naoise for scootering inside our matchbox house, Syd for refusing to eat the vegetable burgers that I had cooked for him. I left the front room and went to hide in my bedroom. I felt so angry and upset and I didn’t want to take it out on the children. My peace didn’t last for long. The boys both came in my room, jumped on the bed and proceeded to kiss me on my face and hug me. Naoise kept saying the face is mine, my mummy. No, our mummy said Syd.

Syd then went upstairs to sing, or rather shout punk songs WAKE UP SOCIETY, WAKE UP SOCIETY. I felt as if he was singing it directly into my ear. I can normally tolerate his noise and creativity, but when you have been awake since five in the morning and are having a day of low mood its an affront to the senses. The neighbours must hate it too. I asked Syd to turn down his amplifier. Syd says that I shouted at him, I can’t remember, I probably did. I was so annoyed with him for being so inconsiderate of everyone in the house and the neighbours; he certainly had woken up society.

I talk to Naoise about my idea to make an instructional drawing about how to build a hedgehog house. His response not now mummy. 

Naoise spent the evening wanting pillow fights, and when I declined he would chuck his empty snuffly pillow case into the air. He would delight in the snuffly getting caught on the lampshade, guitars and furniture. One time he threw it up in the air and it landed perfectly flat on the side of the sofa arm. He laughed out loud; come and see mummy, come and see. 


I am thinking that no calls for interviews will come today. The first interview is Tuesday next week, so really you would think a letter to have come by now. One envelope arrived yesterday, a reminder letter about the friendship group at the Sure Start Centre. I like the friendship group, but I don’t just need support I need a change to happen.

I went to meet the business advisor about being self employed. I am officially self employed; I just cannot find any work. He was wearing a neat suit, he had lots of leaflets with dull, dry information to hand out. I am not sure that this is the way forward, but I make an appointment to see him. I have some fragments of ideas, but they are more art projects than money making strategies.

If I could set up a social enterprise, an organisation, maybe then it would be easier to apply for funding. I have thought this previously, but never actually got about to doing it.

I need to do. Just thinking is not enough.

If the letters don’t arrive, I will feel sad. I already feel like a wasted resource. I have so so much knowledge.

I would still love to do a doctorate. A doctorate that is funded. Write about the maternal. Write about the maternal in relation to arts practice. Have the support of a university. Access to books. Access to opportunities to teach. I miss the energy of young people, I miss intellectual enquiry, a community of like minded people. I am lost. I am lost in domesticity, locality, childrearing, unemployability, and lack of cash to resource my creative endeavours.

What about crowd funding, remember that idea.

Crowd fund your book.

I am distracted by the sound of the birds, the cars on the road.

I need to harness my maternal energy; I listened to the talk “Who’s Yo Mama” by Lise haller Baggesen recorded at The Mothernists conference organised by Deirdre M. Donoghue of the  M/other Voices project. I loved that she referred to Kate Bush, Patti Smith. Kate Bush has influenced this project. I loved that she wrote songs about her washing machine (Mrs Bartolozzi) and her deep deep love for her little boy Bertie.  It was a very well rounded poetical presentation.

I need to think about how to make my work public.

Get the stories out there. Push that pram, distribute the words. Organise that reading day. Think about participation. How to engage with an audience. Write that Arts Council funding bid.


The boys are all asleep. I have been staring at this screen for far too long.

I am torn between whether to go along and see the Suffragettes film at the local cinema this morning or whether to go to the studio. There is always so little time. I could probably see the film on DVD, I feel that I cannot hold off on making any longer. There is so little time to make. Patrick is going in for his surgery on Friday, so I will be on nursing and caring duties from tomorrow. I will be stuck at home. I need to watch him. Feed him. Make sure he can get to the bathroom, wash himself.

Patrick is a little scared of entrusting his care to me. He keeps imagining scenes from Misery!

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