new cross, new cross concrete jungle that dreams aren't made of

i just added my blog to new cross bloggers and so thought i better write something about New Cross as most of my blogs are pure self indulgent rants but i really think these are valid in this utterly insane world in which we find ourselves.
however, i spose a vague interpretation of New Cross from behind my eyes may be appropriate.

okay where do i start?
it's pretty grimy and populated by chicken shops a plenty.
even on Christmas day there are bins overflowing with grime and uncollected bulging bin liners rat pecked at. New Cross stops for no one.
when it snows it is pretty, when it rains it is nice cos people don't like the rain.
i say that but it's not true. when it rains here there are the die hards who go out taking their dogs for a walk on the more silent streets. the odd ones, umbrellas up or none, who relish in the shiny grey and empty streets. the pattering grey rain the wilder skies.
the rain is the last nod to a wilder natural world than the grey car lined streets housing thousands who don't even know their neighbours faces.
rain likers.

when the riots happened my street was full of local looters and people walked by with i pads and massive televisions.
there was a sort of carnival atmosphere.
i myself was kind of tempted. i am desperate for an apple mac.
the enthusiasm, the smiles, the kindred spirit of the people as they ran gladly to the local store to loot was almost community, was almost kind.

there are frequent wails of police car sirens and often a helicopter brurrs above whirring round and round. we grow excited and stand outside the back door wondering who they are chasing this time.
we joke it is us.
sometimes i really think it is.

people have guns and crime is sometimes rife it seems.
on the radio it said kidz keep guns round here.
a young woman was shot,
and two beautiful men from France were slaughtered quite nearby.

but it is not all bad.

here are old and young, friendly and indifferent
all nationalities and all sorts of people.
sometimes it is a blessing to live here, sometimes it is a curse.
i long for open spaces, trees, water; smiling faces.
sometimes there are smiling faces.
kids ride round on bikes some act scary.
there is not much for the young to do.

on Sunday i walked from new cross to Greenwich.
a man on the street lurched with each footstep and walked like a monster
 - i think he had tourettes -
anyway he lurched from pillar to post roaring 'for fucks sake... fucking hell' etc 
and that is an abbreviated and gentle translation
but he uttered words which really expressed a human emotion of anger and hatred and damn fed up infuriation
'he s acting like i feel' i tell a fellow street walker ( i mean a man walking by not a prozzie- i know of none in new x but who knows?)
he was like the elephant man
ugly and terrifying and spilling from his  mouth those things We keep silent and within.
no one in new cross batted an eyelid.
we all walked by.
a little wary but unshakable.

there are students everywhere
all excited
and dressed in patterned tights and from little places
i prejudicedly presume

this is just a place they visit before they go on to get their mortgages.
i prejudicedly presume 
where they score drugs and have ripped tights and discuss university stuff
before they settle down and
disown this place and join the Tory party. (highly prejudiced)

pubs there are a few.
dusty old and new

and drugs and dealers
and on some corners people looking for both..

the library's been shut down next to iceland the shop.
thanks new government.

on my street i know a handful of people
but the community is scarce as far as i know.

when i go out in the morning to put out my rubbish i want to say hello
but more often than not the passing human will bow his head and walk on by.  no good morning.  no hello.
when someone smiles or says hello its like the sun comes out.

wishing your life away

i have got to keep reminding myself to live in the moment cos sometimes it feels like we wish the life away. okay so roughly in this moment i am sitting fag in hand red wine close by typing. talk sport is on the radio not my choice just a left over form when significant other was awake. i am in the kitchen at the table which is covered in plates from supper, daffodils in an old coffee jar, some homemade spray cleaner, some handcuffs- they are my daughters play ones, some mugs a load of other stuff in fact the kitchen is a tip but i am not planning to tidy it this eve.

my book the color purple is on the table too i am closer to the end. it is good.

whats today been like? gonna write a stream of consciousness.

blank blank blank, car, old green coat with paint stains that's mine. fag ash. this is crap. 


i am uncomfortable and wearing my coat still

the radio is driving me crazy gonna change to radio 1.

i think i am feeling irritable cos radio 1 is too frantic and am gonna change it to classical and i have just taken a pause to clear all the shite away that done i still don't feel right my clothes are annoying me and now the classical music is annoying me the way it gets so quiet you can't hear it then it smashes you with annoying loudness. eeek.

my coat is off now.
has been a long day, worked two shifts , still struggling to pay bills. rob Peter pay Paul and all that.
just gotta live in the moment.

oh shit i think it is mylene class on the radio turn it off.
on chill fm now much better and have taken off annoying clothing and replaced with snuggly dressing gown. got back in after doing some work around 8pm and only now at 10 30 pm am i sitting on my backside typing furiously.
kids in bed at last and siggie asleep on sofa so peace fairly reighns.
over.

i could have been a contender

that's kind of what I feel about this blog,
 yes not as dramatic as on the waterfront but somehow today was full of strange pleasures which  i so wanted to record in articulate genius that i honestly felt pulsing through my vein earlier when driving and stuff, but by now I feel like a wrecked and jaded mother again, but hey, i have finally got two kids to sleep and at last can sit down and chill.

it all started this morning as i awoke and scraped my life back together again.
my brake lights were out they've been playing up and today was the day to get on down to the garage and get it fixed.
so after taking my son to school during which we had a rather adolescent v mother row in which he relished in telling me that his dad has a picture of a cow on his phone that occurs when/ if i call ( which made me smile indeed- cows are misunderstood creatures! and i told him that children who don't do as they are told turn into looters- at least that's what the daily mail says (yes stone me i sometimes guiltily partake of reading that rag too)
anyway, after driving really shiftily without brake lights all the way to dulwich -where he goes to school-, hoping the piggie wig wigs weren't on my tail and trying to drive at an even speed so that those behind me wouldn't drive into my arse if i braked suddenly, we
made up.  i remember going of to school in tears and how it destroyed my emotional makeup for the rest of the day but then i am a girl- but i like to send him off stable if possible. then off i went to drop off baby girl to school.
that done i mosied on down to my mams where my darling parents presented me with one beautiful plate of bacon eggs and tomatoes and toast and a mug of tea- first fabulous moment of the day! thanks.

so then off i go to garage where a guy of innate kindness sorts my car out and never really charges me much cos i swear he is some lovely lovely guy who also thinks really highly of my dad.
so he does the oil; water; and other important stuff and we chat and have a laugh about life. then his colleague sorts out my sunroof which has been stuck open for weeks letting in water and he sorts out the brake light switch, a job which i can only describe as one fiddly bitch of a job.  when i want to pay him he says no worrys. that is too gross. i make him take some money and go buy him six guiness, his favourite.
then while i am waiting for them to finish the car i get chatting to an old guy who is also lucky enough to know my garage man and he tells me stuff about his life. so i say 'can you still feel your feet' cos its cold and he says 'no,  i don't feel the cold much, i spent time in germany' i personally didn't know germany was much colder than here but i show interest anyway 'oh wow really'.

he did national service- one of the last lot to do it, at 20 and he - John- met and fell in love with Margaret. they been married 49 years and he is 80 he says rather proudly. i tell him he looks half that cos i can't work out how to say he looks about 70 at least without it sounding not that much of a compliment.
he looks happy like he already knows this. he does actually look about 70 or so but you know when you get talking to an oldie they seem so young cos they are so young they are full of stories and vitality.

anyway i spose that's it really it was just nice. i talked to another old guy about how kids need trees to climb.  that old chestnut. and i just love that finding kinship in the oddest of places with people who you don't really know that well.

anyway my blogs are getting way to long and never really correlate with the title.
but hey the fact is some days bring love for humanity in strange ways.

p.s my ads are so funny

all about anxiety and stress and bet wetting oh what a life!

gonna go to bed now

another Sunday has passed and it is time for me to go to bed. i really have nothing more to say. i went to visit nana but we walked through new cross and deptford which was enlightening. the brake lights on my car were broke. gotta fix them tomorrow.

the sofa or not the sofa that is the question

Sunday is a good day for lying on the sofa. i have to say i don't do this much because i guess there are just other things to do but today i did lie on the sofa for a bit and it was nice plus i read some pages out of yesterdays newspaper supplements. i brought the guardian yesterday because it had some pamphlet on how to make the most of your time. i don't know if i will read it, but i am half way there and the guardian are £2 10 richer cause i got sucked in by one of their self help booklets.
actually i don't much mind the guardian though it is sometimes boring and then i reach for a tabloid or the much taboo daily mail which i will not go on to insult because everyone else already has.

i was pondering , after having enjoyed twenty winks and some gentle reading, about what's best to be doing on a Sunday. i mean so far i have experienced some depressing thoughts; done a load of house work; had a row with significant other; made lunch; more housework and de-nitted/ egged/ general de'd my daughters head for the umteenth time. then thoroughly exhausted, i lay boots and all, on the sofa as my eyelids forced themselves down. sleep didn't come  but a sickish wave of tiredness did.

now its 3pm and still i have not galvanised my self to get up off our collective arses and do something 'productive' or at least something fun. my joy de vivre is very low.

in a way my nearly fourteen year old not being here makes it easier to be lazy. little girl nearly five is actually quite good at entertaining herself and has already today made a new home where she lives and been to America in  a boat and visited Disney land and watched copious cartoons.the
baby has done what baby's do and in a way the pressure is off.
my son is with his dad at some friends house and that's cool i need to find more stuff for him to do.

its gross the way kids get a bit older and suddenly see life through the dull and jaded ground-hog glasses of their dull and jaded parents (and/ or step parents).

they want to do stuff all the time; life is supposed to be a big sloppy oyster of activity and possibility. i am crap at maintaining that sense of oyster and am terrified i will make my children join me on the cliff edge looking out to that bleak abyss.
like the road  by the guy that wrote no country for old men. at least in the road there was challenge and daily struggle for survival not just school; teachers; empty promises that hard work = success and the general misery of school then home where everyone is so depressed and skint that you'd rather be back at school.

i mean does anyone ever like school? its a travesty.
i reckon that when kids get to about 14 there should be stuff for them to do like weekend apprenticeships or 1 day a week work placements or just stuff that can invigorate and harness the positive energy and enthusiasm of youth.
any way i am off the sofa now and gonna go take my kids to see their nana as we now prefer to call her casuse grand ma sounds too austere.

so lets hope son will do his home work later and all will end well and i don't resort to blanking out the mundanity by finding five quid for a mind numbing bottle of vino.

my house- big brother

i do not have big cameras watching my every move although the government pretty much control my life, but what i actually mean is my house this morning is like an eventful episode of Big Brother (as in the channel 5 interpretation of this concept which i actually watched and found pretty interesting)and i have, this morning,done a fabulous impression of both Denise and Nicola- the latter of whom i found myself finding annoying. however this morning i have done a good job of becoming them both. and in this mix my significant other has become Michael whotsit from reservoir dogs (i was pretty young but i never did find out the correlation between the title and action of that film although all i can actually remember is the famous song and ear cutting episode- i will try to find out why its called that later).
though i quite liked Michael cos he just looked and acted cool and had such innate confidence it was difficult to dislike him, it was through his thing with Denise as portrayed perhaps by editors, not sure, that kind of showed that flaw in humans i find particularly miserable. the inability to be kind. period.

now my siggie is not really like that but he just drives me insane sometimes and makes me mad and say words i cannot stand like audacity- it has its place. and then we have a big shouting match in front of the kids- thus reinforcing my shit self image  as  a parent- and making me once again hanker after another more gentle life, where hands are all gentle and voices low and calm and there is no sense of threat around the corner no real possibility of exploding tempers or repressed passions volcaning from their surface and stuff

i just hate when i have been like Celie in color purple- cleaning up; holding crying baby; preapting weeks clothes; cleaning out fridge; feeding and attending to baby and kid and crawling round wiping kitchen floor and hoovering other peoples debris etc etc etc etc etc etc etc hoovering; placating crying baby on hip etc etc etc etc etc etc my siggie comes down from upstairs having had a long hot bath. ps last bath i had included baby and was therefore luke warm and shallow, he then suddenly roars STOP PUTTING THE F ING CAT BOWL ON THE TABLE NO WONDER WE GOT WORMS (we havent) nits (okay the kids have picked up damn nits at school i am on a daily mission to destroy any last one and all its paraphenailis with conditioner and combs and fingers over and over cos my annoying doctor wouldn't prescribe strong 'perticisdes' as she called them but that's another story)
and i am like there(becoming american again) thinking even louder than he shouted fuck off because i have just been crawling round in f ing confined spaces witha baby on heel and child sweetly playing some crazy imaginative game near by, and i have picked up yogort tops and wiped grime and hoovered ash and tobacco bits and shite from the floor and the baby just goes to put his hand in the bowl of nasty, repulsive, dodgy, awful, my-poor-cats cat food - my daughter stops her pirate/ make believe game to say MUM HE'S GONNA PUT HIS HAND IN THE CAT FOOD then i whip it up and pop it on higher surface- the computer table siggie likes to sit at- i have just wiped it (as i only do) with some strong toxic cleaning spray as vinegar just doesn't do the trick (i have tried) and i place it there and continue clearing until its relatively clean and kids can play on floor without catchimng disease.
then i move on to next job- leaving cat shitty food out of reach and blah blah blah. then 10 minutes later He emerges from bath and then i, who is at last sitting down holding baby and sipping luke warm tea, hear this monstrosity of a bloody shout and my blood near boils (cripes i think Celie from colour purple is possessing me)
so hey heres to Shug Avery .

i am just glad my son is not here he is sick of us arguing.

another day another dollar

the last few Saturdays have been pretty crap. partly i think because over the weekend direct debits for various bills raid my account and sadly deprive me of spirit.
i have a mixed feelings about Saturdays. i suppose as kids we may have gone to the library or perhaps the park but i  also remember headache television as i recall it. this was where you would put the TV on- and i suppose there were only 4 of them back in the day, and every channel would be green or screeching with the sound of racing cars.
i hated sport on TV. it made Saturdays feel flat and mortal.
now Saturdays are quite miserable. i feel like i have no sodding mojo.
where is my verve, where is my get up and go?
and living in new cross sometimes feels dispiriting.

there are no trees to climb, people aren't over friendly. life is more a gamble of survival than an opportunity for delightful possibilities.

i have woken up this Sunday morning to another Sunday morning its like a fucking groundhog day thing.
another part of me has woken up and is walking by the sea or taking my children on a wonderful adventure but his part of me is stuck in New Cross South East London, feeling miserable.

gonna do the usual: clear the house up do the laundry and try and so something with the kids like the park or something.
i suppose i feel baddest about my nearly 14 year old cos he needs stuff to do and i can't seem to think what i can do for him to make life more eventful.
i took him to his dads last night because he was getting cabin fever and getting really stroppy and i just want for him to have structure and stuff to do.
i have clearly woken up feeling fairly miserable gonna shut down and restart and maybe will feel better.

when i was a child my parents would rouse us on Sundays and we'd go to church. i think church was invented to remove the lack of structure from days and make people think there is a point to the day. maybe they have a point.

round and round in circles

i am currently reading about two crappy -actually they are fairly good- self help (urgh) books sort your life out
and careers for creative and unconventional people. unfortunately both are half read and not really helping me much, especially when they start telling me to write stuff down like happy memories, like three things that made you happy today like 'having a relaxing bath with candles' or something equally boring.

i mean ultimately they are probably good and i suppose they aim to make you change bad habits and think better of yourself, but they are as said, mainly unread. the one about careers is good but still leads you down a garden path and straight back to Sainsbury's checkout.

this blog is really rather hastily becoming a substitute counselor, i clearly am issued-out to the max.

i just had a car ride in the dark first listening to radio 1 mad new music which just makes you feel like you have taken drugs and then classic FM which had mylene class(y) -or so i reckon she wishes-and her sultry tones nearly making me crash my car. i was driving when feeling very thoughtful. or maybe i was feeling depressed.

i guess that's why this is called round and round in circles as i feel like a sodding hamster on a wheel. round and sodding round.

it doesn't help that i have a son on the verge of unadulterated teenage angst. i mean i think i have been arrested developmentally; i am still, i am sure, trapped in the confused and messed up mind of my 14 year onward self; each fucked up year playing intermittently and simultaneously over and over, my insecurities and angstness tripping me up day after day. i mean i still hanker after nirvana and the throes of agonised self fucked up ness.
so how in gods name i am equipped to deal with a real teenager, god only knows.

i am 4 5ths through a bottle of relatively cheap white wine while feeling fairly sober.

on my sunless car ride i thought of how things change and how things stay the same.
i mean i passed the same pub in Blackheath that my uncle would peruse in days gone by.
in those days it would be littered with people smoking and wizenly drinking and laughing and forgetting tomorrow.
the pub is still there but my uncle is miles away in a little box room with vascular dementia.
 it was my world he inhabited, my uncle, who drank to much or so they'd say. the pub is still there, he is far away.
or passing the amersham arms, New Cross, me in my car gazing out.
 it was surrounded by me's and my old friends, and boys i went to college with; and older guys looking for a young chick. they were all still there, chatting. loud chatting noises signifying nothing. like yesterday i was there outside smoking, unsure, excited,. but i have swapped places. i pass by in my car and watch my ghosts, my friends, our ghosts stand outside and laugh and smoke with the young night.

today i chanced upon kubla khan by SAM Coleridge and i love the bit :
 in Xanadu did kubla khan
a stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.

i love that sunless sea bit. i kind of hate and love that poem. it is so fantastical, it hurts in its unrealness.
anyway the rest of the poem bores me a bit and reminds me of degree in English literature. but i like the first bit. nuff  said.
 really, i like the long extended rhythm of that there verse. and i love the penultimute line about massive caverns - somehow this makes it beyond our measure and thus fantastic. but my fave bit is the simple 'down to a sunless sea'
i love that 'a' sunless sea. Coleridge so simply creates an eerie, dark, dangerous and mystical dreamlike sea just by saying sunless and a bit more.

any way, fact is, i love humanity, i love art, i love music, i love the moment. i hate stagnancy, i love being. i like old people cos hey are still here one foot in one foot out. i love stufff. but yet i can't find my place where i got to be.
p.s. i am reading the color  purple by Alice walker and i like it very much.

the horror

i have a tummy bungling dislike of groups of chattering people sometimes.
let me try and explain- even just to my self.
gosh (not a word i frequently use) this is therapeutic.
 let me set the scene: i enter a gathering of some kind and people are chattering and in my paranoid ears they always seem to be chattering about house prices or their marvelous careers.
i frequently feel like a whirling vacuum and despite being fairly gregarious i secretly feel like a bit of a failure. quite liberating to write it down i must say.

like, if someone ever so much as makes a suggestion of a dinner party then my tummy locks into a ball of horror and i hope it will never be developed into an invitation. i mean god, what do grown ups talk about over dinner. its enough to give me a massive panic attack.
 i mean i am 33  years old and yet i quiver with fear at the thought. am i weird or what? am i completely dysfunctional?

some of my slightly yaary 'friends' were at it just out of their teens. in their twenties. inviting each other over for dinner. perhaps me having a baby at just twenty and then being a bit of a mess for a few years was gods way of getting me out of ever being the type of person who gets invited to dinner parties. i feel this probably sounds so weird and i must be such an odd person.


i mean, (sorry that is such a useful turn of phrase), i have always found it difficult to hold down friends. i often think i must scare people off by my very me- ness cos i have always noticed, since i was like 5 ,that if i start off in a group of new people, that given a bit of time close fun friendships develop of which i am never part of.

i would, absent counselor, like to get to the bottom of my fear. and get to the bottom of my sense of failure.

okay an interesting observation of me is that i am like a chameleon. i mean, i go to the doctors and i want to become a doctor. i go into a class room and i want to be a teacher. or, lets say, i go to someones house- i want it. no i actually want it. their life; their kitchen; their books and knick knacks. i mean shit i am totally fucking plain crazy Jane. i must be sooo insefuckingcure.

once at university- post baby 1; and very internally confused- and externally god knows what... i actually was managing to have a companionable coffee with another student and i remember hearing this rather unfortunate looking girl i was having coffee with, describe another person sat alone at a nearby table as 'Nelly no-mates'- and i remember attributing that description to myself.
after that comment i think i may even have become more silent that even this slightly goofy ginger girl probably found me morose and boring- our friendship definitely didn't develop. but i must have kind of thought in a less cliched way "well but for the grace of god there go i Nelly no mates, but look at me world i am having coffee with a person. i am normal'

anyway that didn't really go any where. but the fact is. i feel cross with me because i feel kind of so unfulfilled. i have always felt like the outsider in any group. i always feel judged and i always feel entirely dysfunctional and useless. that's not to say i don't enjoy socializing but the thought of it gives me the heebies and i don't like to be unpicked.
shit, where is my counselor when i need him.

any way this will be too long if i go on and on so i am gonna pose myself some questions to mull over.

1. why are you not fulfilled. what do you want to be doing?
2. why are you not doing it?
3. why do you always want other peoples lives? 

there, something for the weekend lovey. 

anxiety ball- memories of panic

i am sort of in the recovery stages of a weird attack of anxiety. on a scale of 1 to 10 it was only about a 2 i suppose, but it was really acute and felt.

i drove a little friend back to her house and then was left with a weird knot of achiness in my belly.
it was so there i thought it could have been a result of eating shitty pizza, but it was also quite part of my nerves, maybe that elusive solar plexus region.

then it kind of spread to my neck- my spinal column and then my shoulders froze and then my neck just generally ached with a sudden tension.

 weird or what?

and i am not sure i can put my finger on why.

now i just have a very mild headache and slightly raised shoulders.

it is quite normal for me to have unexplained periods of anxiety, and i have had a single serious panic attack some years ago where i really did think i was about to drop down dead. in fact seeing as my blogs have no stories at all in them and i really feel i am scraping the bottom of the barrel of my brain to write fairly mundane stuff, i will try and retell the panic attack story.

it was about 11 years ago when my son was about 2, i was for the record then 22.
we were taking a bus which was stuck in traffic, to the local supermarket from a place called Brockley to another place called New Cross.
On the bus i started to get this weird pain in my chest. i think my little son may have been playing up a bit.
i recall not having the strength to keep chastising him.
 i noticed that every time i lowered my upper body, i.e. bent over, that the pain got worse and seemed unbearable. it was at that point, the possibility of death encroached my mind. i spent the rest of the journey terrified of bending over in case i suddenly died,  and eventually we got to the shop, me keeping my body rigidly upright and maintaining a firm grip on my son's hand.

i started to shop but the pain seemed to keep coming and i remember asking an old guy near the frozen counters, who i presumed would know, what it felt like to have a heart attack, like what were the warning signs? i can't remember what he told me, but i recall not feeling much reassured and remaining in a state of terror that i was about to drop down dead.

i think i abandoned my shopping and though i can't remember, i guess i still had a firm hold of little boy's hand. i made it to the phone where i was considering calling an ambulance- i was terrified- i just wanted to be rescued i wouldn't know what to say, i am dying please come pick me up from sainsbury's.
however i instead found myself calling my mum who i proceeded to tell i was having or would shortly be having a heart attack and that i thought i was dying. i can't even remember what my mum said but the next stage of this weird experience was outside sainsbury's.

i sat on a bench next to those waiting for a cab. i was completely frozen in fear and horror that i was singularly dying and could do nothing about it, could tell no one, and it was horrible. i think i stood up and started walking to the wall.

then i heard someone shout 'excuse me you've left your kid here'.
 i just kept walking towards a wall which i approached to lean on.
'he's gonna run in the road' she shouted quite angrily.
 i think i rather ungratefully called out 'fuck off' , maybe i should have told her i was dying.
 instead i -now in retrospect rather embarrassingly- leant against the window of the cafe in what i perceived   to be complete agony and imminent death.

the lady shouted some swear words at me.
 i could sense i did not have control of my son, the road of the car park was near, but it was like the whole place was swimming; i couldn't focus.
i don't think i cried but i felt like i was crying my heart out. weeping.

the best bit was when the woman who had proceeded to swear at me -after i rudely told her to f off- when in the throes of death- came suddenly up to me put her hand on my shoulder and said- 'i think you are having a panic attack' she lead me to the bench and seemed to calm me down. the next thing i remember was being swept into a mini cab and returning home. the pain was gone and it was the weirdest experience that has since not been repeated.

well that was cathartic.

children over

my home feels awash with other peoples children my daughters friend and my son's friends and significant other is still working so i am churning out pizza like there is no tomorrow and awaiting night time to get some peace and watch the big brother final whoopee what a life !!

no thing to report

had nice evening quite civilized here for once.
my kitchen is way narrow and recently i have tried everything- painting it white, having the fridge in different place, moving table around and most recently closing my eyes, squeezing really tight and hoping that when i open them the kitchen plus the house will have magically shifted slightly creating a few extra feet worth of room.

well, i don't know if it is me or my attitude, but we have a new table- my sister was getting rid of, solid wood, it actually used to be ours some years ago, and even though its quite big, it somehow makes the kitchan feel more spacious.

weird.

probably makes quite boring reading though which is why i have nothing much to report.

LATER

BEEN WATCHING BIG brother been quite into it this year.
so much for not drinking i have been enjoying a nice bottle of red which has aided me in my duties and i just hope will not keep me a slumber in the morning when it is all action ready set go.

tomorrow i will be spending the morning with an elderly lady 84 year old lady for a chat and any help she needs.
then back to mine to make nice and tidy for my daughter's friend, mum and baby sister to visit.

i don't really have visitors much, my home is like an open wound of my brain so i don't invite just anyone, but i hope to make it hospitable enough to make us all have a nice time.

i was talking to a lovely friend this evening about how i feel the need to tidy up etc etc when someone comes to visit  and she said it doesn't matter; take me or leave me my house is my home it is me if you don't like it go away. but then she hasn't been to my home lately it feels like a giant squid has entered and done a huge shit that has spread into every room with things and bits.

i crawled around on the kitchen (minuscule) floor with a scrubbing brush the other day trying to clean it and make it nice it still looks like shit and half of this evening's dinner and washing now seem to be strewn left right and centre. but, hey i will come home tomoro at 12 and clear up and prepare the tea- hummus with vegetables and pitta and chocolate cake and ice cream and it will be fine.

i guess its just certain people that give me the heebie jeebies when they come into my house but these friends are lovely. i know it. will post back how it went.

but i am not ready to finish yet.

i am staying up for a bit.
okay so it is now a bit later and i have done some house work tidying kitchen , laundry and so on. everyone is asleep i do believe which is a singular joy.
good night.

confidence issues

okay I think I have always been double natured with confidence. one day i feel a million dollars and stride confidently through life. another I am all a shiver with my lack of social graces and inability to utter something without tripping over my words and apologising profusely.


as a child that meant confused friends and therefore a lack of., plus lonely afternoons trying to find someone to stand next to.


as an adult it is difficult to maintain a sense of self on a day to day basis.
sometimes I feel like I wear my unsureness like a big fat cloak.


this I wish to end now, I am tired of daily struggles with that beast confidence.

what is confidence?
definition: 
 belief in oneself and one's powers or abilities; self-confidence; self-reliance; assurance

and self esteem?

a realistic respect for or favourable impression of oneself;self-respect.

well. timeless kind of issues i mean Socrates 100's of years BC said be as you wish to seem   

yes, makes some sense but may require some effort i mean what is seem? (to appear to be, feel, do, etc)

Gertrude. Why seems it so particular with thee? 

Hamlet. "Seems," madam? Nay, it is; I know not "seems."

anyway i digress with the help of copy and paste. 
but anyway what it is is,

 i think,

 in my inability to seem 

then i am a jiggle of me. 

that makes sense to me. 

plus i have had my fair share of shallow and disappointing friendships where you do feel a fool as soon as you be you and open your mouth and say something

i have been a specimen on the end of someones snail like eyeball. so maybe 

counsellor blog

i am just recovering from that. 

yes affirmative.

confidence. 

hmm. 

irritable

kids driving me insane house driving me insane; prickles on the neck irritable.
not a drop to drink that's maybe why.
just annoyingness and a night of getting kidz to bed who have already fallen asleep in the car so will never stay in bed to look forward to.

i know it sounds ungrateful but my children are really irritating me they are loud noisy and too close to me hanging off me grabbing me etc.

stop right there

ok you, that is me- i am now definitely blogging to myself, stop right there i can feel navel gazing happening and it is incredibly boring change the page please.

COUNSELLOR BLOG

when I was in nursery school and about four years old I remember doing some cutting out.

 I think I can actually remember the action of cutting carefully around a shape.

I can't recall the actual words, but the teacher- possibly an american teacher- was so pleased with my work. Whatever she said, and however she said it,  I felt so clever and special and the knowledge that I was a good and careful cuter-outer stayed with me for a very long time- perhaps even to this day.
Now, if someone- usually an adult-(one of which I am too!) tells me I am good at something I feel like a happy and loyal puppy and am so delighted and eager to please.

I am now thirty three or so and have possibly identified that I am constantly seeking approval.
It kind of relates to the paper cutting thing because I have identified that warm glow of self esteem that grows when someone says something nice and appreciative .

But sometimes I find that initial glow  becomes, or metamorphes,  into a sort of puppyish need for continued approval before I can recognise that I am actually worth anything. And the action I have performed becomes the sum of who I am. I swear I had a secret glow every time I used scissors until I was in my late twenties.

Now counsellor blog, I am not attempting to preen and then play a violin right now. Remember. this is my journey and I only ever attended real counselling because I felt like one big fat nothing
(bar scissor cutting). What I am seeking to do, is recognise that I can harness positive memories like Harry Potter, and try to also identify the triggers or memories- the second of which I don't have many- which develop into need for approval and the low self esteem that results if you don't get none.  

Sunday Sunday

in this journey of life i think i am one of those who spends day in day out in an enclosed kernel  of constant thought and worry. and to top it off to try to soothe the loneliness and oft horror that brings, i think i have used alcohol very very frequently to numb the worry and the horror away for a good ten years.
it is only when i find myself out between nine and ten am on a windswept Sunday morning in January with my small girl that i realize how anaethesitized  i am making my life. i am not sure i am even alive on a daily basis i am just sort of wading blindly through and not tasting life in its vitality.
for me the allure of liquid that takes away the 'edges' and blurs the mundanity and eases the thinking, has been so appealing despite the foggy dragging mornings. and yet i am coming to see that i have been losing time.
i often think i want a different life and that i cannot ever bring any change. but today i kind of pray that the kernel of my mind can be penetrated and allow me to waken cos i can't go on as if blind, feeling my way through this sometimes strange existence.

the end of another day nearly

and as it stands i have only a head like a waste paper bin and nothing of any substance waiting to emerge. just like the adds on this page i am concerned with feeding; baby; children; teenager, and the rest. so dreams i have of putting virtual pen to paper and creating a fine masterpiece will have to wait another day, month or year...

i wonder what its all about

sometimes i really do

today's a new day

lovely, so far- uplifted by the spattery rain this morning a good night's sleep and bumping into two old friends in random location on random journey. funny cos on another day that would headache me but feeing pretty social today. in fact this blog is starting to become like a virtual counsellor. I mean its not much different to having one cos mine didn't talk much anyway. he just listened to me rant and talk and then conjured up some lovely images of what I had said then I felt better. 
i am on a sort of journey and this is a great way of charting its route.

people like myleene class -another rant

now i feel bad for kind of disliking her as i am sure she is just doing her best to get by and make the most of what she has but i find her so uuuubbbber irritating. like she's had a baby and now every time i go to yahoo for eg, her irritating smiling face is grinning understandingly at me like i am a naughty baby though i am not sure if she is seeking to understand me or my significant other (she fails on both accounts). then even though i am knee deep in baby and child and teenager and have a first class degree in all three; she goes on the tell me of the hiccoughs of being a mum and how fabulously she deals with it and how we can too, with her help, i expect. and i can't really put into words just how annoying i find her.
like, hasn't she got enough jobs, does having a baby make her a flipping expert?
Plus today i just feel irritated with all mums generally who are so uber mummyish and capable and unfazed and good.
where is a mum who is bad. not a slummy bloody latte loving, yah yah, you-know-the-kind of mummy, and not of course a nasty unkind neglectful one who is mean, but ones that are like me i suppose.
these mummy's are like fat people or ugly people, they are hidden away cos they hide themselves away cos they don't fit into the kind of mum image that people like myleene doo-dah replicates.

it's like (and i am not american) isn't stuff hard enough without celebrities jumping on bandwagons of tips for (normal) mums, fashion tips- from some wag- no thanks, cooking tips from uber i've tried my hand at everything gwinnie and what not. where are the messy, normal mums who do it day in day out with no acclaim.

rotting behind the scenes and being patronized by cardboard cut outs with airbrushed thighs.
sour and grapes spring to mind. who cares maybe i have got sour grapes : (

fairly see saw

weird day so far as a fellow human being going my particular way along this planetary journey.
fairly depressed for much of the morning feeling anti social even when in no threat of any social communication bar my baby.
life is a bit of a see saw for me much of the time and i don't think i  am that good at riding it- never much knowing when it'll be up or down, and being fairly thuddish when i'ts down and short lived when it is high and just a quick motion in between.

some days i am hopelessly hateful of the perils of motherhood, some very scant and menial work, and the chores of a reluctant housewife. yukky that word gives me the heebie jeebies. and others i fairly (my fairly favourite word today) relish in the messy routines i have each day.
for example having just fairly meticulously cleared the sides in the kitchen; wiped the seats and prepared the floor to be mopped i have a rather reluctant sense of achievement.

some days i make some money for my various skills and dream of making more and wonder why i am such an under achiever in the world of self promotion; great ideas and money making.
i long to be doing something that makes me happy -and my family- and that makes me money. and then that just feels like too much to hope for.
i think i may be depressed.
i feel depressed now after writing this but it is also fairly therapeutic.

a rant- in which i am a shite mother

i put my hands up to perhaps being the borough's most miserable mum. i can't describe how painful and infuriating i find my job sometimes. it makes me want to scream. it is relentless and incessant and i must be so shite at it because i swear it drives me to want to drink.

its like a crazy game where i seem to be one of the main players who is always running frantically with the ball.
 i don't mean to bitch but i could put my hand on my heart and fairly promise that i do the main share of bathing; getting to bedding; caring of the children no matter what, and it doesn't end. nor does it stop there but i can't actually bear the sound of my own voice when i list my irritations so i won't go beating down that fruitless path right now.

i just want to express how shite it feels to feel so infuriated when i put one child to bed and she just won't settle and keeps messing around etc etc. i read a story; i sing, i try everything and it doesn't work. the book go the fuck to sleep by Adam Mansbach and Ricardo Cortes springs to mind. i havent read it but empathise heartfeltly with the sentiment. 


then my teenager is just constantly watching sitcom reruns and i just want all children out of my hair.
it makes me so damn irritable especially after working during the day, doing the school runs, and washing damn laundry.

and i feel this huge ghoul of super nanny or some blasted perfect unselfish parent breathing down my neck telling me i am out of control and i need to take charge and stuff and it makes me want to drink even more. that's not to say i am  drinking which is probably what makes it even more painful.
sometimes it is so damn crap and unrewarding being a parent and then you feel guilty that you are a bad parent cos you lose your temper- for me that's just leaving my child without saying goodnight and coming to write this tripe - and that makes me feel guilty and like a dreadful parent.
and then i worry about my poor neglected child lying in bed lonely and confused and sad then i feel even shitter cos i don't know what the heck i am supposed to do to be a good parent. then i hear my baby cry and realize that i should be with him- he is with his dad. then i just think i am not cut out for this parenting lark but i  suppose its a bit to late for that.

i feel that i should be kind; that my children should be so happy and contented that they just fall to happy sleep when their head touches the pillow; that i should be spending more time with them, doing things like playing board games (there is a reason they are called bored games-yawn). that it could somehow all be so much better; that i shouldn't want to drink to be happier. its like a vicious miserable circle.

well its just after nine and i am gonna go to bed. significant one is watching football- massive yawn, daughter is upstairs either awake or asleep; teenager is watching prince of bel air on the PC with ear phones and baby is just waiting, i feel, to own his mother once more.

so yes, there it is the worlds most irritated, miserable mother...
i have nothing good to say .

and there i hear my daughter coming down the stairs.... : (

one of those days

I don't really feel like writing today at all but have decided to do so before bed as I think sometimes it is good to go against your better judgement. I.e. you may feel like staying in your bed all day and never facing another human being again- but a walk in the sunshine is all you need.
today has been one of those days. where had I not three kiddiewinkles then I should like to sleep, to stay in, to hide and never have any small talk with any one ever ever again.

I have felt immensely irritated today. today has just been one long pain in the arse. where everything falls over when you walk by it. and your jacket catches on the door handle and when you trip over your feet or when you maybe for example sneeze and it ends up all over your face. that didn't happen but it's been one of those days. in fact it reminds me of when I was about fourteen and I wasn't really a spitter but hey teenagers manage to make all sorts look cool. i remember I was wearing desert boots and I was waiting at a bus stop and for some reason I cannot recall I decided I wanted to spit. perhaps to look nonchalant and piss off some grannys, I don't know. however it ended up landing on my desert boot, or was it in my hair, even worse.i can't remember but it's one of those days.

today's the sort of day where every time baby falls asleep and I breathe a deep sigh of relief and attempt to extricate myself from motherhood for 2 mins- he wakes up like some kind of evil keneevil and wants me and only me to cling to like a gorgeous heavy heffalump crushing down on my hip. .
or where i cannot find the patience to go on with patience and tramp upstairs time after time to put a reluctant child to bed; or make things seem better for a teenager who's having a bad day themselves.

so any way it has been a day like that where my patience is so short that I am virtually chasing it round the room and it is only when everyone is asleep that i actually realise how much I love them all.

goodnight sleepy tight

roast chicken.

hello blog. just cooking din dins again roast chicken, chips, green beans, broccoli and gravy. yum yums. probably no tornado tonight. any way that has actually been resolved with an apology from significant other which makes it much easier to move on.
i put the chicken in bare- a little oil but no seasoning today as it cooks really nicely and when it collapes i remove from oven and it is ready to eat.

still awake

it is 12 15 and despite my goodnights I cannot sleep yet.
the kitchen is a buzz with the washing machine and the tumble drier and I am having a final glass of wine before I go to slumber.
I am not sure I feel like carrying on with this slog blog. it feels a bit like a pointless waste of time.
I feel a bit weird constantly writing stuff.
maybe I am just lonely.
but I am not I actually just like having a place where I can talk- erm write or type. I suppose it beats incessant thinking. So maybe I am just lonely.
shit, maybe we are all just lonely.
I think my writing is not going well I am too self reflective.
the best blogs I read are quite uninhibited and some are brilliant. and there are loads of them. it's quite scary how many people are just typing away brilliant thoughts.
I feel quite pale in comparison.
I will soon go to slumber and cannot wait to dream my dreams and get afreshed to start a new day. 

thought for the night

"If you're in a bad situation, don't worry it'll change. If you're in a good situation, don't worry it'll change." John A Simone, Sr.

bored already

okay so I have had a crap situation this evening but it bores me so much I am going to go to bed and forget about it. anyway baby 3 is not very well- he has a temperature- and I love him so much I am gonna focus on him. tomorrow is another day, and I have tons to do. so goodbye Tuesday.

shit happens

and I don't know why things are so shit sometimes but I hate that some shit never seems to be resolved. like a stupid horrible argument where there is never a sorry or something.

I have been in a pretty good mood for some days; I have been happy I am finding things cool. ish. I have been getting work and seeking to get to know my side which I have been a hiding for so long. clichéd but my creative side. then bang. I gotta deal with a domestic. things get broken i clear them up. utter rubbish gets spouted from mouths and I have to take it or argue till the cows come traipsing home all million of them never-ending. and I think it is shite.

this is anonymous i think so i guess i will treat it like my diary where i can write what i want for therapy. I had a counsellor for a year he was fantastic and i could say everything or anything and it was marvellous cos he listened and seriously he did never once give any judging looks or comments. now i have him no longer and i guess right now you dear blog are my counsellor.

plenty were the agonies of domestic displeasure.
what pisses me off is things go so swimmingly for days at a time. wow i think, we've moved on then shit just happens.

domestic nightmares human tornado

okay so we have just experienced a little tornado on the domestic front.
it has happened before and I always am left feeling, wondering whether I could have prevented it.
whether he's a c u next Tuesday or I am?

so to recap.
I am preparing dinner in our small and more than fairly claustrophobic kitchen in the heart of new cross south east London.
I have cobbled together  some jacket potatoes; a sadly rather runny cheddar and mozzarella  sauce over spaghetti with crispy bacon and some green beans. hey its the recession. fridge is fairly bare.
me and my kids have put some homemade rice pudding in the oven (all positive and fairly homely so far!).

the kitchen is as I said, is fairly cluttered; the table is clearish and ready to eat.
there are four chairs plus high-chair needing to fit in a fairly small space. but it is doable. I do it.

in the doorway is a hoover- I must have left it there after a groundhog moment of hoovering up general shit I hoover up every day and yes at some point i have abandoned it to probably attend to a child or baby or laundry or perhaps something else.
but there it is, a tangled mess of hoover in the doorway adding to the general cluttered atmosphere of the eating area.

I am at the stove finishing off. the table and chairs are in front of me. the hoover, on the other side nearest significant other, is impinging onto the small space we have- in an attempt to be civilised and eat together at a sodding table.

so I, maybe stupidly, ask my dearest beloved to please put it away.

he is sat  in his place with a cross word puzzle. fairly irritating of course to be asked to perform a task that some will deem unnecessary. but to me, seems good in the most basic of ways and will surely contribute to a feeling of space and less a feeling that I am cooking -and all of the rest of it, so that we can, like slobs sitting in shit , eat more shit that I have prepared, to shit later.not nice imagery. but shit clutter puts me in that way of thinking.  it is just shit, and the hoover lying in the doorway for all and asunder to trip on seems to undermine my efforts- or lets even say- our efforts, to keep up some basic standards.
 child 2 aged 4 can't move it and child 1, 13 yrs is upstairs. is it so much to ask? 'yes you Sheila' shout a chorus of bigots.

he wiggles it a bit to one side.
and I repeat 'please move it it's in the way' see above as to my reasons for feeling this way.
think small space,  clutter;  narrow walls closing in;  me cooking,   baby crying;  hoover in doorway tangled and visually displeasing when combined with the above.       people hungry. waiting to eat. me standing.      rice pudding in oven ,     ideals. 
I repeat hoover in doorway tangled and visually displeasing when combined with the above
(and weirdly, until the tornado swept it didn't even seem that bad,just like an abandoned hoover with its entrails spreading through a doorway and encroaching on what little space we have).

after some negative banter- him insisting it is fine where it is, and me insisting otherwise, he grabs the hoover.
I move two chairs out of the way so as he can lift it through and perhaps place it under the stairs where it sometimes lives when I actually put it away- being the prime hoverer among other things.
as he moves past the table clutching the hoover which now becomes a threatening plastic monster, he shakes it -the table- as if to demonstrate what little room there is and how impossible it is to get past. he manages to do this with his free hand as he roams past dementedly carrying the god forsaken but much prized hoover.(poor innocent victim in all this!)

As he does so(shake the table as walking past it carrying the hoover), a full and voluptuous bottle of seductively unopened red wine crashes to the floor (I watch it in slow motion) smash. the baby's bowl joins it.clink a jacket potato follows suit- thud splat, and thus the tornado has swept through the kitchen.
baby starts to scream followed by child 2.
more negative banter follows. I lose my appetite, comfort kids and serve up the slop- which it has now depressingly become.

I question myself whether this is the psychological reason the tornado struck- it often does somehow manifest when I have prepared pasta based suppers with less meat than pasta; or anything containing chick peas, fish with bones in; lentils or god forbid, tuna. then I tell myself- don't be crazy- you would never in your right mind tolerate wild angry tornadoes cos he don't fancy the supper.

blood red wine grows into a deathly puddle on the floor in front of the fridge- seeping right under and beyond, where I sense it will remain until the second coming or when I fetch some rubber gloves and get the scrubbing brush out.there are shards of glass in it. a sad and wine soaked baked spud is on top next to the bereft baby bowl. social services eat your heart out.
he will not clear it up and says it is my fault for talking to him always like a c u next Tues. and oh of course 'put the fucking hoover away next time' rings in my little ears.

so there you go.
oh life how fun it is.
and from where I sit I smell the now stale old smell of undrunk spilled red wine.

my motivations

for starting this blog is I suppose to write
although actually I am not actually writing I am typing
or speaking in my head or whatever.
I have always longed to write but have never known what to write so I guess this blog is, for the moment, my journey of writing but more so just a journey into the unknown as I don't know where it will take me.

oh what a wonderful life

i love mornings like these
where you wake up in a pretty good mood.

good night

well it would seem that this blog remains the possession of me and me alone. like my dreams it is just the exploration of me in a big unending world .
 it is lovely and I am happy cos I  like a talking to the universe-
I am now ready for bed. so goodnight dear universe. xxx

my life right now

this weekend at times my teeth have actually hurt with the irritation of stuff.
just thought I'd paint the picture as quick as possible- you know that feeling when the very nerves at the root of your teeth tingle with jangled frustration of over worked patience and calm while below the surface simmers the real you who is flailing her arms and attacking the nearest object.  I am not sure that really articulates how I feel and I won't include some of the more dangerous mental images that have plagued my mind while I get about the long daily business of life.

weird poem i wrote when drunken

on 8th January 2010

i got some blue tak and
made tiny little blue babies it was fun.
little blue tiny baby's out of blue tak .
they didn't whisper a word they were just cute
like cartoon babies
in fact even better than that
they are so tiny there is no hope in hell
my blue tak babies will survive
though I am sure they would love this life so
they would swing upon the swings with such glee
and cos they are so small I would not hear their childish negative discourse
I would just see them chatter happily
mistaking their cursing and swearing for
lovely comments
and they
my little blue tak children
would never grow but only cuter and more malleable and warm beneath my fingers
so when I want a cute bluetakian baby for my own I reach out my hand and there he is or she,
its up to me.
she skittles fast she
is not interested in kisses
god forbid poor child
she just wants peace and quiet.

half past twelve night time

well actually its probably more like half past one. or something. I am eating a cheese piccalli and ham sarnie and have just returned from the shops  with a bottle of Chardonnay. but really must go to bed. But the call of more vino is too huge. so heres to cheese sarnies and sweet dry wine. so nice. gonna head off now cos sobriety is surely better for this lark. PS. all kiddies are fast sleep except baby 1- 13yrs but now tis time to go xxx

what a day oh mother

can't even begin especially since I am down under a few glasses of wine. well. I will begin at the beginning as it is therapeutic.
OK so I woke up at 6 ish and baby 3 woke up too so I fed him a baby yoghurt and had a cup of tea meanwhile significant other  was probably waking up. I went back to bed. significant other left for work. came into bedroom looking for clothes. helped find. went back to bed. 10 30 am woke up proper and child 2 was of course up so gave her breakfast and baby 3 too then placed him in high chair so could do abundance of jobs that needed to be done. and so he sat patiently as I loaded washes; the dishwasher; cleared the sides and the table; fed the cats; cooked the mince - one day over sell-by but smelt OK- made it into a shepards pie filling and cooked a curry- with chicken cooked two days ago but smells OK- with chickpeas and potatoes but no onions cos out of onions. gotta get an onion.
and then I mopped the kitchen floor after clearing it of shite that lies there. child 2 age 4 meanwhile played ships in the laundry basket. .
then I folded tons of shitty laundry for me and the family.
then I took broken hoover back to shop and got new one. then I was on my way to  nephew 6 to take to park. then significant other texts- I need key where is it? my key is in my pocket. my front door is locked. I am due to take small children to park. significant other needs key, what a fucking headache.
take kids to park. share coffee with sister in law.
I push baby.  Sister in law skates ; Nephew  runs, child 2 rides her bike and niece scoots.
end of
at sunset we leave. i go look for my lost phone- I lost it earlier. then to sis 's; tea then feet- i am a reflexologist. then play- the kids. then to sainsburys for wine as it is my brothers birthday. then to my mums then home to pick up significant other then oh shit the break lights are out then AA man. then copious glasses of wine then god knows what then home.

what a dream

OK so right now I can't get off the subject of writing a blog and how really essentially quite depressing that is.

I mean the adverts showing on the page to earn money --very loud and over hysterical guffaw- - relate to the content. so far the adverts here are on bed wetting. heigh ho and away we go! wow what a blog. I am sure to get readers. ha ha even my significant other has given up. and my son of 13 will only read to keep reading figures at an all time high that is 1 view per day.




well the great thing is that being a mum with lofty dreams and aspirations and yet no really good ideas but plenty of sometimes rather nail pullingly painful parenting to do this is fabulacious because I have so many damn notebooks of my moanings and groanings and, to myself, rather fantastic thoughts that it is a so much more productive feeling to type away on the keyboard with baby crawling round near me. hey I could even begin to imagine that I am a much lusted after (by money givers) journalist who is tapping for her supper rather than just frantically typing cos I like the sound of my own tapping.




any way pick up time for child 2 so ta da echoing universe.

weirdos

my  boyfriend is now being horrible about my blog saying hes the only one who will ever read it any way. well at least we will be communicating then i suppose. he says its like a tragi comedy- wow i din't know he knew what one was.
now hes garbling on about me having an ego. yeah its in my baby's nappies and in their stomachs every night when i cook a meal. i don't have time for an ego.
i wish i did.
i am not even sure what a sodding ego is for gods sake.
it's just something people say when they think you could be doing something better with your time like matching their odd socks or making them a packed lunch.
my ego went packing a long time ago.
and any way i don't give a horses hind legs if any one reads my sodding blog i like writing it its fun like sending messages to god in a bottle and getting no answer except the echoes of my own mind.

one glass of wine down/ domestic fury

a third of a bottle to go.

this may sound like the musings of an alcoholic. may be it is. what is an alcoholic?

just been told i am a lunatic by my significant other because i want him not to read what i am writing. (he reads with a look of strain and questions)

i don't think he understands the fury that i so frequently feel.

simple domestic fury

like never ending tidying and baby caring and child pacifying and teenager concerning and washing up and laundrying and wiping tables and mopping and hoovering and tidying and bath cleaning and toilet cleaning and stairs hoovering and putting away and pacifying and forgetting ones self and just on and on and on and round and round. even writing it i feel like a scondrel of a nag but hey here's my chance, a blank sheet of nothingness going nowhere but the ether. nag nag away.

it is hateful on days when it seems the cup can get no fuller. but it can. there is always more room for more pacifying, concerning, tidying, oh, cooking, baby caring, parking -as in going to parks- parking as in endless driving here there and everywhere, and patience endless patience that of course implodes and drowns itself in a not big enough glass of wine .

yes at times motherhood suits me like a sink in the skull, but then i started innocently early at just twenty. a child of nine children. what did i know. other times i am like a fluffy duck to water pacifying away the unruly irrational, demanding and insolent beast that is child.

of course on another day i can only count my blessings as i gaze at my intelligent, sweet children especially when they sleep. but right now, the frustration of mother hood sits upon me like a large cold pile of bricks.

it is probably because i am tired.

cos i do love em.

12 minutes past 10 and baby 2 age 4 has emerged from upstairs bright and f*** ing wide awake to tell me something really important. my heart is veritably racing with need to be child free for just a while. if she comes back down i may scream.

it is infuriating

aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh

i am just going to pour out my infuriated heart as no one is looking any way.

it makes me so damn angry when i am so damn patient when my damn kids just wont stay in damn bed.

they get sodding insomnia and it drives me sodding crazy.

i am not ready for bed yet i have to dampen my desires and patiently lie with them.

its ok sometimes but sometimes its to much.

i am so not miss sodding perfect i am so damn imperfect and i am so getting ffed off with incessant children. and i don't really have any more to damn well say.

motherhood/ my life

OMG oh My God

holidays nearly over and i an only sigh with an utter sort of exasperation.

child 2 age 4 only just in bed at 9 53 pm, baby 3 crawling all over the place with significant other on couch observing whilst also watching darts (yawn) and baby 1, 13 yrs at his nanas for the last night before back to school day after tomorrow.

me, clutching a glass of crisp white wine and finding solace in tapping upon the keyboard before baby 3, 10 months old, summons me to attend to him patiently and lovingly.

as mother of three, this Christmas has not been filled with hedonistic celebratory knees ups and long pub afternoons but attempting to satisfy activity hungry children and boy oh boy does it never end! oh but it will i hear my mournful other whisper.

significant other has just appeared in doorway as i finally sit down wine and cigarette- baby in arm, him not me, to see- i imagine- what i could possibly be doing now i have bathed and got to bed child 2. ahh. not much more i can say.

happy new year quiet universe what have you in plan for me? or me for you?

is it another year of constant doing,

dreadful escape in huge glasses of wine and hankering after something more fruitful?

or will this year be my year where i may finally step into some semblance of a life i imagined i might once inhabit?

i can't really begin to sum up this year. it has been long and arduous and like this rushed attempt at glob-blog, a guilty snatched moment, i feel i have hardly stopped for thought. it seems a baby or child or man will just step into view reminding me of my motherly duties.

this year i may try to write some more. because it is a outlet, like yoga stretching the tense and exhausted muscles, it may create a pathway from the agonizing tension and frustration of my brain to a bright and sunny opening, a glade where things can grow.

who knows?

i am sick of brick walls BANG i go into. invisible but intransigent walls that rise up in front of me and force me to turn back. i want a way through now to carve to scratch to push my way through.