|"All Fucking Hell" broke loose|
I feel the need to write, but have no idea where to start or what to express. I still have a full mornings' worth of Nick Jr and Cbeebies ringing in my ears, not to mention "Finish; the dye-are-mund standard", "Autoglass repair, Autoglass replace" and the like.
I tried doing some baking to occupy my restless state, but didn't have enough caster sugar to make anything more than 6 scones. My eldest is at his dad's, middle son gone up to my mum's for 2 hours, youngest is in bed.
I could/should be:
- cleaning bathroom
- cleaning kitchen
- tidying up
- plucking my eyebrows
- filing my nails
- re-instating my system of small cars, medium cars and large cars in the toy drawers (I must have been pre-menstrual last time I did it)
- texting people to arrange some sort of get-together (but, I hate 'planned fun')
None of the above appeals. I wish I got pleasure from completing tasks, but somehow it just makes me feel more tense, waiting for it to come full-circle and needing to be done again.
It is an exceptionally miserable day weather wise, and the view I have is of wet, drab terraced houses-most have the curtains or blinds closed.
There's a poorly aligned sticker on my lap-top, it proves a very irritating distraction, as does the dirt underneath the glass of the TV stand. I wonder how many people have been murdered as a result of one too many minor irritations pushing someone over the edge. There are plenty of domestic violence incidents stemming from dinners being at an unacceptable temperature, tardy or at worst, NOT MADE. I have a tale for everything at the moment, and on the subject of over-reaction, a particular classic...
There was a boy in school who lived with his grandparents, he was fat and spoilt. The conservatory had been designated as his space and his grandparents were banned from there. It didn't look like a typical teenager's lair, it was a grotesque homage to Neil Diamond. The shelves bulged with Neil Diamond memorabilia and video tapes, posters of him sneered at you from every wall.
One day, his grandfather couldn't find a blank video to record a local news clip featuring him, so he went into the conservatory. Most of the Neil Diamond tapes were meticulously labelled, so he took one with no sticker on and recorded the news. Little did he know "all fucking hell" was going to break loose (to quote 'John Matrix' in Commando, as my other half does all the time). In the evening, (on discovering Neil's latest show-stopping performance had been recorded over) revenge and anger lead to the living room being annihilated, every ornament, photo, treasured item - smashed to pieces.
I have two more stories up my sleeve, but I think that one takes the biscuit, don't you?