Last night was four hours of ironing with Birdman. I think it had hoped to be Lost in Translation but Beetlejuice is no Venkman. I fell asleep in the small hours, but still early enough to miss the 2:00am ta-da of a text that would have had me talking til alarm time. Morning started with a small sleep rumpled boy doing fish-lipped bubble blowing as he snoozed. He must have crawled in while I was in deep sleep. I opened the living room door to tweenage daughter in headphones, messaging her bestie. Five tiny fur faces inclined their heads to one side and enquired with big eyes and quivering whiskers where breakfast might be. They had to wait for a while until wed laser-pointed Magic into the cat carrier as today was removal of his Thunder-balls day. A surprise lift through the wet hurricane to school and the vets, then home to make Important Calls of the things I had been worrying about variety. Luckily it turned out that it wasnt so bad and that by being A Proper Grownup a pay in instalments plan could be made. The nice people at HMRC kept me on hold for half an hour. Although the robot lady was pleasant and apologetic about my wait, still no closer to talking to anything with vocal chords. Round to a lovelyfriends for a giant tidy. She says the thought of beginning it scares her. I say the thought of leaving things as they are is even more terrifying. A short break for hot crunchy rolls with pate and a phonecall to check that Magic has awoken from sleep a eunuch, then we crack on. The phone, tucked in my bra so I dont lose it in the disappearing clutter, pings or ta-das with messages, which is lovely. But what is the sound of one handy tidying? Thats one for all the Buddhists among you. Collect the castrato cat then the small boy and walk several paces behind daughter in case I embarrass her by being old enough to remember when her favourite songs were originally released. We go into the shop for the one thing I really need, but have unfortunately forgotten what it actually is. Giant chocolate for tiny pennies and home to kittyville. Homework and important talks about creepy pasta and how Lukey is in The Gang because they like his personalised wolf schoolbag. Anya bookmarks shoes she needs for her birthday in a few weeks, so I make her walk mile in my shoes. The 4.5 inch heeled ones. After dinner brought more luck. I thought a small feline had had an accident on a teatowel, but it was merely an opportunistic blob of gravy from our steak pie. Monkeys bathed as I sit on fences by text and proclaim that Im Switzerland and entirely neutral, despite lacking cuckoo-clocks and discrete banking. Now? Tired and putting on my work head ready for tomorrow. I should sleep soon and let my subconscious unravel this day before its time for the next one. Happy dreaming all x
Posted on: Mon, 12 Jan 2015 22:29:16 +0000
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