The last few days have been very different for me, throwing my routines and ending the Groundhog Day feel to life. My mum in law had the 2 year old from Thursday 2.30pm until Friday 7.30pm. A swap took place on Friday, 3 year old went to stay for two nights. My eldest celebrated his twelfth birthday on Saturday.
I found myself locked in a narrow world of mild depression last week, fully aware of my self-absorption, fatigue and inability to move much. An awareness that this phase would pass quickly helped me to make an allowance, to wallow and refrain from trying too hard to emerge from the pale grey cell I was confined to.
Loud noises, fast movement and unexpected physical contact set my nerves on edge (so with 3 clumsy boys I was on edge quite regularly). I *jumped* at the chance of having a whole day to myself last Friday, the co-incidental timing was perfect. Charity shopping, all day, that's what I'll do. Maybe a cup of coffee half way through the day, perhaps some craft therapy in the afternoon, pure indulgence.
I waved the 2 year old off on Thursday afternoon and would have gone straight to bed had I not had the school pick-up to do. Instead, tea and 20 minutes cutting up paper, so very therapeutic for me.
On Friday morning, breakfast was civilized, I chatted to my eldest without interruption, there was no porridge splashed around waiting to set like concrete. I felt my breaths getting deeper, waking me up, energising me. Straight into town after school drop, the children's hospice charity shop first. Colour coordinated rails of clothes - I do not approve of this display method. I look at everything many times wanting to buy lots but knowing I would end up giving everything back to charity very soon,
People everywhere, noisy, smelly, full of shit. An old lady moans to the volunteers about her health problems, they don't listen or care. The weight of my imagined load drains energy reserves, I long to escape from myself. There are people sitting outside 'The Patriot Bar', a vile small public house, the devil's waiting room. Briefly, I envy their lack of decorum, responsibility and self-preservation instinct.
I cut my charity-shop binge very short, the poorly lady is making her way through the shops at the same rate as me. Hearing the same story three times is too much for my fragile brain, I start to see things happen which aren't happening, time for home.
Craft and solitude save the day, I refresh myself and make a mess with paint, paper, glue and shiny things, my 'basket weaving'. Maybe I'm over-tired, a bit run-down, under-nourished but over-fed. I try to remember last year, does the week leading up to my eldest son's birthday stir painful memories, perhaps?
I found myself locked in a narrow world of mild depression last week, fully aware of my self-absorption, fatigue and inability to move much. An awareness that this phase would pass quickly helped me to make an allowance, to wallow and refrain from trying too hard to emerge from the pale grey cell I was confined to.
Loud noises, fast movement and unexpected physical contact set my nerves on edge (so with 3 clumsy boys I was on edge quite regularly). I *jumped* at the chance of having a whole day to myself last Friday, the co-incidental timing was perfect. Charity shopping, all day, that's what I'll do. Maybe a cup of coffee half way through the day, perhaps some craft therapy in the afternoon, pure indulgence.
I waved the 2 year old off on Thursday afternoon and would have gone straight to bed had I not had the school pick-up to do. Instead, tea and 20 minutes cutting up paper, so very therapeutic for me.
On Friday morning, breakfast was civilized, I chatted to my eldest without interruption, there was no porridge splashed around waiting to set like concrete. I felt my breaths getting deeper, waking me up, energising me. Straight into town after school drop, the children's hospice charity shop first. Colour coordinated rails of clothes - I do not approve of this display method. I look at everything many times wanting to buy lots but knowing I would end up giving everything back to charity very soon,
People everywhere, noisy, smelly, full of shit. An old lady moans to the volunteers about her health problems, they don't listen or care. The weight of my imagined load drains energy reserves, I long to escape from myself. There are people sitting outside 'The Patriot Bar', a vile small public house, the devil's waiting room. Briefly, I envy their lack of decorum, responsibility and self-preservation instinct.
I cut my charity-shop binge very short, the poorly lady is making her way through the shops at the same rate as me. Hearing the same story three times is too much for my fragile brain, I start to see things happen which aren't happening, time for home.
Craft and solitude save the day, I refresh myself and make a mess with paint, paper, glue and shiny things, my 'basket weaving'. Maybe I'm over-tired, a bit run-down, under-nourished but over-fed. I try to remember last year, does the week leading up to my eldest son's birthday stir painful memories, perhaps?
