26 Nov 2012
There is no coherent theme to what I am about to write, I can’t think of anything pertinent. I am ruminating a major piece on motherhood that will take enormous courage to write, as I will have to profess my early incompetence and total lack of clues about how much it would change me. This will take some time to write, as I struggle to express myself about how I felt nearly three years ago.
Instead, I am giving you this, which will no doubt be a string of random madness.
I have a campari spritzer and Lou Reed. We are reaching never ending tired. I have a wading pool and toddler to supervise. The bloody gardener cut the bloody mothering banskia rose back again, in spite of it not needing it and in spite of my express wish that it be left the hell alone to grow huge and unwieldy and screen the house behind that grows daily as it is extended and threatens our peace and sanity. He cut it anyway. He doesn’t work for me, I don’t pay him so he does what he likes. Which drives me totally insane. And there is little I can do.
I have a leaking water meter or pipe or something out the front. I only know because the gardener left a note in the letter box. Dial 1300-SaveMe. I do not want to have to deal with it.
I have to write a lot of stuff for work about stuff that is not clear and no one knows how it will end up. Obfuscatory brilliance is required. It is ok to say you don’t know for a while. Except that it is really, really important to people’s lives. The frustration is mounting that there is such a lack of clarity. And that it won’t end anytime soon. Welcome to working in human services.
I forgot to book the cat into boarding over Christmas and now both our regular places are full. I forgot because I picked her up after we got home from Melbourne and I was exhausted and the vet made me wait and tell me all the things about her teeth cleaning, and then I just wanted to go home and forgot that I needed to book the cattery for Christmas.
A lecturer from the University of Western Sydney just used ‘irregardless’ on national television. It is not a word and now it appears so frequently it will become the newest excrescence on the verbal landscape.
I am to have salt and pepper squid for dinner tonight. I thought I was having my dinner alone, as Robert was taking The Talking Boy to the movies. This fell through and now there is not enough squid nor is there anything else except two boiled eggs which he has to make himself. I am going to attempt to not cut my hand off as I make the accompaniments for my squid. After the huge piece of glass that I managed to embed in my foot and then extract, yesterday, I’ve seen enough blood this week.
I sit outside on the third of the hottest days since December last year and while I am attacked by mosquitoes, I ponder the decision to write a blog post a day for an entire month. This writing gig is both important and difficult as Blogvember has amply demonstrated.
This always happens when I have a big post in the off. I find it impossible to write about anything else, not strictly true as I am actually writing this now, such as it is.
Now, I give you Lou Reed because I have loved this since I first heard it when I was seventeen
Told you it would be madness.