UNSURE

BEEN A LONG AND STRANGE WEEK the wheel keeps turning.
listening to nirvana my favourite (16 year old self) song which has just come on the radio 'i'm so happy- Lithium'
cut my baby's fringe this week which has turned him into a little boy.
wonder some times whether you can actually have any control over events in your life or if they actually just happen when the time is right for you?
have had vivid mental dreams this week .
good night.

bed time

tired. been a long day. day time OK in many ways but evenings not so good. I see a photo of my sister and I can't possibly believe she left us. I recall the coldness and the permanence that coldness brings. my heart misses her so strongly.

mundane versus heavenly

been up since about 7 am when significant other left for work. sun shining bright. did a quick bit of stuff in the garden all with a a view to mud reducing- just now for example my son has walked muddy foot prints into the titchy kitchen.I managed to tackle the completely covered surfaces in the kitchen and now is quite tidy, and I have piled a weeks worth of laundered not-put-away-yet clothing into piles of whom they belong to. for some reason I just can't bring myself to put them away. The London marathon is on today so am not going to venture out till about one when will take the kids to Greenwich for some Anglo Saxon/ Viking stuff. Son took the littles to the park locally with his ferret which gave me about half an hour of child free time (minus baby) which all adds up in the pot of sanity. Now they are back and upstairs with the ferret, so relatively peaceful.
baby- actually 14 months old - is drawing a picture in his high chair. I am the only one not dressed properly yet so gonna do that soon then leave after they have eaten some lunch. Why am I writing this all down, I wonder? Well in answer to that i don't know it is like taking a breath and exchanging -with myself i guess- the rather mundane activities of reality and the churning of my mind. I so often find myself in a state of acute stress and anxiety that this process is like a breather; a recap; a touch base. Plus one day I want to write something of substance and I guess the process of just writing is good for me as I don't have real time to do any thing else or to finish anything. I want to soon start creating art and posting that on my blog as that is another way to expel the mundane and its opposite- the heavenly...or the other stuff that reams between the mundane.

Let them Leap

Today started well, in that I woke up when all were sleeping and went into the garden where I sat and drank tea from a mug my sister used to give me tea in (she'd be drinking expressos in teeny weeny expresso cups while I liked a gallon of tea). That made me feel so sad. I closed my eyes to wait for some whisper in the morning breeze, some whisper from her. But when I opened my eyes the garden was unchanged and there were no whispers. I wondered if she could see me like in the films. But even that didn't provide fruit. The garden has been excreting. As if the bowels of the garden seem to bring up stuff. Some of it is brought in -like stuff we used to make the ferret a house in the shed. It is like undigested humongous piles of  rubbish. Then earth sits in piles which has become sludgy, deepest blackest brown mud from the rain. Filthy toys lie amongst the odd lost, squashed and abandoned beer can and bamboo cuttings. Gunk and crap, .....sand and stones intermingle with ferret rubbish and expanding litter my son has carelessly left lying around.
I tie already-filled - sopping wet bags shut and scoop up garden shit into other bags like I am changing the garden's nappy. I have started to hate earth; or maybe just mud. I like clean good moist earth; earthy earth. I have mud. I like to make mud balls as I scoop it up and toss it where there is other mud. There is too much mud. I hate it.
Mud is a funny word. Why is it different to earth. An old friend of mine used to annoy me when she's say she needed to get mud to plant her plants. She meant compost/ soil/ earth. I feel these are different things.They aren't really, but I guess it's like 'would a rose smell as sweet by any other name' or whatever it was in Shakespeare's stuff.... Anyway, the annoyance was mild and voiceless as it seemed silly of me to pull her up on such a idiosyncratic thing, plus she was pretty messed up herself too... It was all really more of a question mark in my head.. I just didn't understand why she called compost or earth mud. Silly really .....
So I'd put on my gloves of rubber and elastic cloth and begun with the easy bags that are light and full of cuttings. I lift them one by one through the house. It is like I am in playing a vital role in the excreting process of the colon of the garden and house and, bit by bit, I carry the shit through the narrow corridor of the house until outside the front door becomes the toilet, containing huge, muddy and filthy bags of stuff that has gathered muddily in the garden plus undigested twists of metal and broken plastic things. I move silently and stealthily as I do not want to wake the kids from the precious sleep. They do not stir.
I clear the car equally of it's months of toys; paper; soggy things, sweets, clothes .. and bring those back into the house and fill the car up with the garden's shit.
When I return inside, the baby is crying panic stricken on the hip of my fourteen year old boy and the children are up. They have choclate spread sandwiches and yoghurt for breakfast then watch Spongebob Squarepants. I leave them all- including baby of 1 year with fourteen year old and I escape to the local dump- a place I  like to go, the nowhere land of rubbish and unwanted things, and I toss the bags of shit into massive metal crates. Goodbye shit I think as I drag the heavy bags up the metal steps and heave them into the huge bins to settle with all the other shit from other homes and gardens. I leave the rubbish dump and get back into my now lighter car. I should go home but the freedom is almost delicious. I have only been ten minutes and radio two is playing I Feel Fine by the Beetles which I turn up loud and relish in as I drive towards the Old Kent Road. It is beautiful, the drums, the guitar, all of it is glorious and I think of my sister and seem to enjoy my tears which give some solace and some relief to the emptyness there is after her name in my mind.. the goneness.
So not to home do I go but to B and Q where I will spend money, that should be saved, on sand and pebbles and plants for the garden. Retail therapy can be truly delightful while it lasts.. As I pull in at about 9 am the car park is nice and empty compared to what it will be in a  frenzied hour or two. The radio is playing the most fantastic song of brilliance The Ikettes I'm Blue- The Gong Gong Song (doobi doobi doo... so reminds me of her). I park the car , turn off the engine, close the windows and listen to it loudly in my ears.

I spend thirty pounds with gladness. Tomorrow will come and it can all wait.

I drive home fast down the Old Kent Road with the usual jerks insisting on diving in the space in front of my car so we can all sit together behind the red lights. Let them leap I think as I drive on at moderate speed. With car smugness I glide into the left lane overtaking the overtakers and swinging smoothly left into the road of The Five Bells Pub leaving them sitting in traffic going on. They probably don't even notice. But then I am not so sure on the road - for me it is sometimes as pathetically immature as the playground and these small triumphs can make it all the more enjoyable.
I get home and bathe the little kids one by one, then me. They dress and are clean. I think of taking them to the museum. They have hot Dogs from Aldi for lunch. The baby sleeps. They go upstairs to play. The museum can wait.

tension of the tightened bow

I feel like Yeat's tightened bow. like something is waiting to break. i think this has always been a part of me but a part that has laid dormant in me, waiting, like a hunched shadowy figure in my own shadows to come and relish in the agony it which it gratefully finds me. the noises of children; people...brings out this tense impatient angular creature that just longs for stoppage and for silence and for stillness.
i feel inhabited by angles and agony. i feel inhabited by tense misery that sits comfortable in me and relishes in my lack of desire to wake to the day and instead coaxes me to abandon myself; to leave my hair unwashed; to shy away from the sun and cherish the damp dark of solitude.
only when all sleep do i feel free. and like the last breath of living it takes so long for sleep to come and bring
 some kind of solace and peace.

dragging feet

times are pretty tough. not just for me but for everyone i know. and days for me are sludgy and horrible. things have altered so strangely and i have grown changed.  I have been walking through a thick fog and days have turned to weeks and weeks to months. people say you need to carry on now. but it isn't like that. it is a sludgy and horrible. i feel like i am falling apart and don't know how to glue back together again.

existential agony

I know not if I use this word correctly however I feel it suits my current feelings.
I am drinking a glass of beer and I am smoking a roll up as I  type this. 
I am itchy and I feel covered in an eczema-like rash. My eyes itch; my legs itch and then my back itches. I feel irritable and irritated. I just want to scratch my legs. And then my neck itches. 
But I think this itching is not anything but psychosomatic..... my shin skin feels too close to the bone and sensitive. My children today- the youngest two, have had this strange desire to be always touching me- that makes me sound strange and makes me feel autistic (in fact maybe I am autistic), but I mean wherever I am they seem to be there, clambering on me and pivoting around me like small creatures always with one hand upon me, fighting over me. And yes they are (small dependent creatures), but I feel crowded and itchy in response. My son of fourteen is like an argumentative ferret - one of which he now possesses, and even my little toe itches, though I must state the ferret lives in a ferret safe shed outside with mod cons and blankets to keep it warm, so the itching is not ferret related (for the record). To top it off I believe I have something called trichotillomania (a real mouthful for 'a compulsion to pull out ones hair)- think classic mad woman scenes and your half way there. I mean how bad can it get. It began in secondary school some 20 years ago as I deeply hated the walls that bound me into school and all it carried with it, and here I am today still yanking out strands of hair to appease in some way the existential agony in which I so frequently seem to find myself. The way I feel is a bit like a Laurel and Hardy day which my late sister -coined the expression-  called days where the universe seems intent on hurting you. It may be amusing to be met with small moments of incidental disaster (like getting a ladder in the head as you stand up, or walking into a door) but in reality these are days which hurt; where you stub your toe; raise your head and bang it on a shelf or catch your hip on a table or your pocket on a door handle or manage to knock everything down as you pass thus creating an avalanche of misery and irritating inconvenient distressing anger.
i will soon to bed as the day has nothing left for me ( i must have autism- 'a tendency to view life in terms of one's own needs and desires.... from Greek autos self+ ism' online dictionary). I mean I accept that I am pretty self obsesssed; navel gazing and wallowing in my misery, but this is all part and parcel of my existential nightmare and the ties that bind me so strong and so invisible to my psychological make-up. 
I have a piece of bedroom furniture from my darling late sister's home and I had to screw it all back together to put in my daughter's room. I mean, what the f*** happened? What is this all about....What am I doing? I think as I tighten the screws. Why is this not in my sister's room, where is she? What happened? 
And so the wheel goes spinning round unfairly and relentlessly.